FRENCH'S ACTING EDITION No. 2503. 



THE TRUANTS 



»R 6005 
024 T7 
L913 
:opy 1 



k Comedy in Three Acts. 



BY 




WILFRED T. COLEBY 



Copyright 1913 bp Samttel French, Ltd, 



« 



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THE TRUANTS 



MR. GOLEBY'S ONE-ACT PLAYS. 

6d. each. 

THEIR POINT OF VIEW. 

THE LIKES O* ME. 

A BIT O' STUFF. 

THE YOUNG NAPOLEON. 

THE DUSTY PATH. 

AUNT BESSIE. 



THE TRUANTS 



A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 



By 



WILFRED T. COLEBY 



Copyright, 191 3, by Sauusl French, Ltd 



New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 

28-30 WEST 38TH STREET 



London 

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THE TRUANTS 

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 



Produced by Miss Lena Ashwell at the Kingsway Theatre, 
London, on February ii, 1907, with the following cast : — 



Freda Savell . 

Bill Chetwood 

Dick Chetwood 

Lady Darnaway 

Pamela Grey . 

Lord Strelland 

The Rev. Philip Preston 

Bent 

Checkley 

Mrs. Collins . 

Jack Carstairs 

Pegler . 



Miss Lena Ashwell. 
Mr. Dennis Eadie. 
My. C. M. Hallard. 
Miss Frances Ivor. 
Miss Athene Seyler. 
Mr. Norman McKinnell. 
Mr. Ernest Young. 
Miss Margaret Murray. 
Mr. D. Lemman Ward. 
Miss Gertrude Scott. 
Miss Olive Walter. 
Mr. D. Pagan. 

Nethercote 



Parish Councillors, Members of the 
Household. 

The events recorded in the play take place within the space of 
24 hours. 



The Fee for each and every Amateur representa- 
tion of this play is Three Guineas, payable in advance 
to:— 

IHESSRS. SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD., 

26, Southampton Street, 

Strand, London, 

or their authorized agents. 

No performance may take place unless a written 
authority has first been obtained. 

Any Costumes, Wigs, or Properties used in the 
performance of plays contained in French's Acting 
Edition may be hired or purchased reasonably from 
Messrs. C. H. Fox, Ltd., 27, Wellington Street, 
Strand, London. 



THE TRUANTS 



ACT I 



The scene is the Hall at Nethercote Grange, the Chet- 
woods' place in Kent. The Hall is an old-fashioned, 
oak-panelled room. The pictures and furniture are 
of the usual country house type. It is early in the 
afternoon in October. A scene plot ivill he found 
at the end of the play. 

As 'the scene opens half-a-dozen people are sitting at 
the table — i.e. Dick Chetwood, a handsome, 
charming-looking man of 35, at the end of the table 
near the fireplace. Next to him is Lord Strelland, 
a clean-shaven, thin-faced, aristocratic-looking man 
with rather a disagreeable expression. On the other 
side, with his back to the spectators, sits Preston, a 
typical country clergyman of middle-age [a thorotigh 
gentleman). Mrs. Collins is sitting next to Lord 
Strelland. She is a woman of 30 ; she is rather 
smartly turned out in a dark country coat and skirt. 
She is very alert, and when she sits down, perches 
rather than sits. Her way of noticing everything 
reminds one of a jackdaw. Sitting in chairs against 
the wall in separate attitudes of discomfort are three 
or four other men, i.e. the village grocer — who keeps 
the post-office, the village carpenter — the man who 
jobs the village trap — and the publican. 

{As the curtain goes up Dick Chetwood rises at the 

head of the table and addresses the company.) 

Dick [after whispering a moment to Strelland, 

getting up with some papers in his hand). Well, 

gentlemen [turning to Mrs. Collins)— I beg your 



8 THE TRUANTS. 

pardon, Mrs. Collins — ladies and gentlemen. That is 
all. It only remains for us, as the Parish Council, 
to answer the letter. The Water Company are 
willing to bring the water to the village here for £120 
a year. 

(Bent, a middle-aged parlour-maid, comes in, followed 
by a jolly, round-faced man, evidently a yeoman.) 
Bent. Mr. Checkley. 

Dick {coming forward). How are you, Mr. Check- 
ley ? You're all behind the fair — we've just finished. 
The meeting was called at 2.30, it's past 3. 

Checkley. Well there, Mr. Chetwood, sir, t'warn't 
my fault as I'm late. I says to my wife this arter- 
noon, " Where's Parish Council Meetin' ? " I says. 
" Why," she says, " down at the schools." 

Lord Strelland. Never mind, Checkley, you're 
just in time to hear what Mr. Chetwood's got to say. 

Dick {standing up again and glancing at the papers 
in his hand). We can have the water laid on for £120 
a year. I'm willing to pay three-quarters of that 
provided I get it at the Grange here. Lord Strelland 
will have it laid on to his two farms. {Turning to 
Strelland.) Eh, Strelland ? 

Strelland. Certainly. 

Dick. That will be another ten pounds, so that 
the village will get an absolutely unlimited supply of 
the best water in the county for about £30 a year. It 
only remains for us as the Parish Council to pass a 
formal resolution. 

Strelland {getting up). Then I propose that the 
Nethercote Parish Council accept the company's 
terms. 

Dick {to the clergyman). Will you second that, 
Preston ? 

Preston. Certainly. {Getting up.) I second 
that. 

Dick. Those in favour of the motion hold up their 
hands. 



THE TRUANTS. 

(Dick Chetwood, Strelland, Mrs. Collins and 
Preston hold up their hands, but none of the others 
do.) 

(Looking round bewildered — after a pause.) Those 
against it ? 

[All the others hold up their hands.) 

Dick [utterly befogged). But — really — surely there 
must be some mistake. The way we suffer from 
shortage of water in this village is terrible, the money 
won't amount to a halfpenny vote. At last we've the 
chance of getting what we've been struggling for 
for years, and you people, you'll get it, you know, for 
nothing. 

[Another pause.) 

A Parish Councillor [rising slowly and speaking 
stolidly). The matter 'as not bin thrashed out, Mr. 
Chetwood, sir. 

Dick [hopelessly). Very well, the motion's lost — 
that's all. 

Strelland [breaking in). Yes, yes, we'll call 
another meeting later on. 

(Strelland gets up and comes up to Dick, the others 
get up one after the other. There is some whispering.) 

Checkley [getting up). I 'ope as there's no 'on- 
pleasantness, Mr. Chetwood, indeed I do, sir. 

Dick [smiling). Unpleasantness! Of course not. 

Checkley. Because before this Parish Council 
Meetin' breaks up, there's summat I should like to 
say, and that is, as we all of us hoffers our 'eartiest 
congratulations and respects to Mr. Chetwood 'ere, 
Mr. Dick we alius calls 'im and shall call 'im, on 'is 
engagement to Miss Savell. We none of us knows 
Miss Savell as yet, except 'avin' seen 'er about, but 
we shall know 'er, and I may say as we shall all of us 



10 THE TRUANTS. 

be glad to know Miss Savell, Mrs. Chetwood as is to 
be, and proud to know 'er. 

The Rest. 'Ear, 'ear I 

Dick (smiling). Thank you very much. You've 
rather hurried me along, Mr. Checkley. I didn't 
mean to make it public for a day or two, but I shall 
send the announcement to the papers to-night. 

Mrs. Collins {coming forward and gushing pro- 
fusely). My dear Mr. Chetwood, I'd no idea. I do 
congratulate you. 

Preston. My heartiest congratulations, Chet- 
wood. {In an undertone to Mrs. Collins.) What's 
the name ? 

Mrs. Collins. Savell — Savell. 

Strelland. Every happiness, my dear fellow. 
I'd no notion of this. 

Dick. Thanks very much. (To the others.) Well, 
gentlemen, it's very good of you to come up here and 
save us that walk down to the schools. You'd like 
some tea, Mrs. Collins, wouldn't you ? The men- 
servants are all out at this football match {ringing the 
hell), but Bent will bring you some in a moment. (To 
the others.) Now, my friends, you must come and 
drink Miss Savell' s health in something a httle stronger 
than tea, eh ? 

All. Thank 'ee, sir. 

(They troop out with Dick Chetwood, Checkley 
goes out last.) 
Strelland (just as Checkley is going out) . Check- 
ley. 

(Checkley comes back.) 

Strelland. Checkley, what on earth's the matter ? 
Why won't you have the water ? We had twenty 
cases of diphtheria in the village last summer, as you 
know. It can't be the money. 

Checkley (clearing his throat). Well, milord, 'tis 
like this 'ere. Some of the cottages 'as got wells, 
'aven't 'um ? 



THE TRUANTS. 11 

Strelland. Only six out of the whole village. 

Checkley. Ah, but that's it, milord, six wells and 
four of 'em belongs to us as is on the Parish Council, 
a matter of four between us, you see. Now, if we 'as 
the company's water our wells becomes as nothing, 
don't 'em ? All the money as was spent in sinkin'our 
wells is throwed away. 

Strelland. But the wells are more than a hun- 
dred years old, and the water in 'em's not fit to drink. 

Checkley. I do know that, milord, but the w^ells 
increases the valley of our property, don't 'em ? It 
was Jacob's well as made Jacob the man 'e was, I 
do reckon. Now if we 'as the company's water, 
where be our wells ? We shan't be able to 'old our 
'eads no 'igher than them in the village as 'as not 
got wells, shall us ? 

Strelland. I see, I see. 

Checkley. No offence, milord, but you see 'ow it 
stands, don't 'e. 

(Bent brings in tea for Mrs. Collins. Checkley 
goes out.) 
Strelland. Good heavens ! {Turning to Pres- 
ton.) Well, Preston, how did you enjoy your trip 
round the world ? 

(Bent clears chairs.) 

Preston. Immensely. You've been away too, 
I hear. 

Strelland. Yes — I came back yesterday. I've 
been across Afghanistan and up into Tibet. 

(Dick Chetwood comes hack hurriedly.) 

Dick (hurriedly to Strelland). There's one thing, 
Strelland, before you go — about this Braxton pro- 
perty, 

Strelland. You're not going to sell it, I hear. 

Dick. I'd never the faintest intention of doing so. 
I can't think how the report got about. Now, does 
it matter to you when you give up the tenancy'' ? 



12 THE TRUANTS. 

Strelland. Not in the least, Chetwood. I'll give 
it up to-morrow if you like. 

Dick. It's very good of you indeed. You know 
Bill's come home ? 

Strelland. Your brother ? — yes, I heard so. 

Dick. He's set his heart on living at Braxton, and 
I want to make it over to him lock, stock and barrel, 
as scon as I can. 

Strelland {laughing). It's uncommonly generous 
of you these hard times. 

Dick. Well, Bill's a rum fellow. He doesn't gener- 
ally bother about anything in the old country, but 
he's mad about Braxton. It's been the one wish of 
his life ever since he was a child to have the place, and 
I don't want to stand in his way. 

Strelland. It's the stables, I suppose. 

Dick. Yes, the stables and the down and every- 
thing. Bill's idea has always been that as soon as 
he made enough money he'd settle at Braxton and do 
a bit of training and, in fact, make the place what it 
was in the old days. One of our earliest recollec- 
tions was seeing my grandfather's string of horses 
sold by auction at Braxton. Bill couldn't have been 
more than eight, but I can see him now sitting on the 
gate — howhng and then muttering between his teeth, 
" I'll come back here, I'll fill those stables when I'm 
grown up, see if I don't." And, by George, he's made 
the money to do it. 

Strelland. Well, I'll clear out any time. I only 
took it for the shooting. I never use it except to put 
people up when I've got a big shoot. 

Dick. I can't thank you enough — and there's just 
one other thing, Strelland, with regard to this water, 
I thought 

(Chetwood and Strelland walk to the hack of the 
room where they discuss some papers.) 

Mrs. Collins {squirming up to Preston). But it 
was so clever of you to write those letters to the local 



THE TRUANTS. 13 

paper, Mr. Preston, when you were away, and as I 
say to every one, how nice for us to have a clergyman 
at Nethercote who's been somewhere and knows some- 
thing of the world and keeps his eyes open. 

Dick {coming down rapidly — to Strelland) . Very 
well, Monday week then. Preston, one minute. 

(Chetwood and Preston go out, talking and looking 
at some papers.) 

Strelland (coming down, to Mrs. Collins). Pres- 
ton's looking very fit. 

Mrs. Collins. Yes. (Simpering and squirming.) 
And how odd it seems to have our clergyman in the 
parish again, doesn't it. Lord Strelland — quite 
strange — as I was saying to your wife yesterday. I 
do hope some of the poor old people will make haste 
and die while Mr. Preston is here. Not that I want 
any one to die, of course, but it does seem so dreadful 
to think of them all dying off as they did last summer 
without any clergyman at all to minister to them, or 
even give them their soup. 

Strelland. Preston ought to have a curate, of 
course. 

Mrs. Collins. Well, between ourselves, the poor 
good man never is here, is he ? never ! (Taking a 
pocket-hook out of her pocket.) Now I've kept a little 
memorandum of the actual number of Sundays 
he's — 

(Bent comes in, followed by Preston. She gives 
Preston his umbrella.) 

Strelland (to Bent). Is Miss Savell in. Bent ? 

Bent. I think she's out walking with Master 
Jack, milord. 

Strelland. Could you give her a message from 
me? 

Bent. Certainly, milord. 

Strelland. Tell her, would you, that I only came 
back from abroad yesterday, that I wish to see her 



14 THE TRUANTS. 

very particularly, and I'll walk across again this 
evening. 

Bent. Very well, milord. 

Mrs. Collins (to Strelland). But weren't you 
astonished at the engagement, Lord Strelland, though 
I daresay you'd heard. Of course, you know Miss 
Savell so very well. 

Strelland (curtly). Only in business. 

Mrs. Collins. In business — oh yes, of course. 

Strelland (turning to Preston). She's guardian 
in a sort of way to my Httle nephew Jack. (To Mrs. 
Collins.) Good-bye, good-bye, Preston, you're 
lookin' as brown as a berry. 

(Strelland goes out.) 

Preston. I'm sure I'm very stupid, Mrs. ColHns, 
but who on earth is Miss Savell. Ought I to know ? 

Mrs. Collins (launching well out into her stride). 
Don't you know really ! But, of course, you're away 
so very much, aren't you ? It's all quite too romantic. 
Miss Savell is the girl who was shut up in that fort 
all those months amongst the Afridis with Lord 
Strelland's sister, poor Ethel Carstairs and her hus- 
band. 

Preston. Shut up where ? 

Mrs. Collins. Don't you remember about poor 
Ethel Carstairs — how she and her husband and a 
handful of native troops got cut off in that sudden 
rising amongst the hill tribes in Afghanistan ? They 
were besieged for months — and the poor Carstairs' 
baby was bom in the middle of the fighting while 
Ethel was shut up in the fort, without a doctor or 
anything ? Well, it was this Miss Savell who was 
with them. Freda Savell, and poor Ethel and her 
husband were the only Europeans in the fort, and 
when Ethel and her husband were killed, just at the 
last moment Freda Savell managed to escape some- 
how with Ethel's baby — Httle Jack, you know, who's 
stopping here now. Don't you remember the tremen- 



THE TRUANTS. 15 

dous talk there was about it ? Nine years ago it was 
— Freda Savell was only seventeen at the time. 

Preston. I'd forgotten. {Crosses to fireplace.) 

Mrs. Collins. I think you were travelling at the 
time. 

Preston. Yes, I was in Bermuda that year, and 
Chetwood's going to marry this identical Miss Savell, 
is he ? How interesting. 

Mrs. Collins. It's enthralling. And the amus- 
ing thing is I don't think from Lord Strelland's manner 
he's very pleased. You see, poor Ethel, Lord Strel- 
land's sister, left letters saying she wanted Freda 
Savell to be the boy's guardian in a sort of unofficial 
way, and now Lord Strelland has made the child heir 
to his property, he doesn't at all approve of Miss 
Savell's influence. So this engagement will quite 
complicate matters I'm afraid. 

Preston. How on earth do you find all these 
things out, Mrs. Collins ? 

Mrs. Collins. Of course, I don't know, but — well 
— I put two and two together, you see — and 

Preston. Ah, this putting two and two to- 
gether 

Mrs. Collins. Well, we can't all be travelling 
always, Mr. Preston, and in the country if we didn't 
have some hobby. Of course, I don't know that Miss 
Savell and Lord Strelland may not be on the best of 
terms, but Freda Savell's rather advanced — and 

Preston. Is she the Miss Savell who wrote a book 
some time ago ? 

Mrs. Collins. Yes, yes— Old Beliefs and the New 
Age, it was called. 

Preston. Rather bitter in tone it was, but very 
well reviewed if I remember. 

Mrs. Collins. Oh, but one of the papers— the 
Methodist Recorder, I think it was — said the book 
was terribly destructive. I cut the criticism out 
and kept it. Lady Strelland and I were looking at it 
yesterday; they spoke of the book in the grav^ 



16 THE TRUANTS. 

way. And then Miss Savell's devoted to little Jack 
and she's rather managing, and I don't think Lord 
Strelland's the sort of man to stand much interference. 

Preston. But Strelland's brother's boy Ponty 
will come into the title, won't he ? 

Mrs. Collins. Yes, but 7iot the property. Lord 
Strelland hates his brother and his brother's children. 
He's going to leave everything to this other nephew 
of his, poor Ethel's boy — httle Jack Carstairs ; that 
I do know — nothing's entailed, and of course now 
Freda Savell's going to marry Dick Chetwood, the 
Strellands' next door neighbour — well, Lord Strelland 
will have to see a good deal of them. And you see, 
she's not quite one of us, is she ? She's travelled 
all over the world for years by herself on quite a small 
income and done all kinds of things — in fact, nobody 
quite knows what she has done. 

Preston. She's a lucky young woman anyhow, 
to get a man like Dick Chetwood. 

Mrs. Collins. Yes — of course, there are certain 
drawbacks. 

Preston. Eh ? 

Mrs. Collins. Well, there's Lady Darnaway to 
begin with, she's been mistress of the house here for 
ten years, you know, and as Dick Chetwood' s only 
remaining aunt, his father's favourite sister, you may 
depend upon it that she 

Preston. My dear Mrs. ColHns, Lady Darnaway 
is the kindest soul on earth ; Lm quite certain she 
won't make any difficulty. 

Mrs. Collins. Perhaps not, but Bill Chetwood 
will still live on here at the Grange, I suppose ? 

Preston. Bill ? Is Bill Chetwood back from 
Buenos Ayres ? Ld no idea of it. 

Mrs. Collins. Ah, but then you are away so very 
much, aren't you ? Oh dear, yes. Bill's back, and, 
my dear Mr. Preston, he's appalling. 

Preston. Ah, there's a good deal of jealousy 
among hunting people, I'm afraid^ Mrs, Collins. Be- 



THE TRUANTS. 17 

fore Bill went abroad he always used to stay with his 
uncle in the 'Shires for the hunting season, and he 
got the reputation of being one of the best men to 
hounds in the Midlands. He doesn't think much of 
the sport about here I expect, and he probably tells 
them so. But Bill Chetwood's a rare good fellow. 
A bit irresponsible, but I've known him ever since he 
was so high, and he's a fine fellow, Mrs. Collins. 

Mrs. Collins. Oh, but Mr. Preston, that's just 
what I say. I always stick up for Bill. What I 
always say is that for all Mr. Bill Chetwood's horrible 
ways he — 

Lady Darnaway comes in. (She is a comfortable- 
looking old body with a pleasant manner. She is 
followed by Pamela Grf.y. Pamela is an exquisite 
creature of twenty-one in a very simple and very 
expensive " jeune fille "frock.) 

Mrs. Collins. Ah, how do you do, my dear Lady 
Darnaway, and what news — what a delightful engage- 
ment. 

Lady Darnaway. Yes, we're all so pleased. 
Pamela, here's Mrs. Collins. 

Mrs. Collins. How do you do, my dear. How 
pretty you look ! 

Lady Darnaway. I'm so sorry I wasn't here to 
give you some tea. 

Mrs. Collins. Oh, but I've had the most delicious 
tea, thank you. Well, I must be off. I shall have 
several visits to make after this news. 

Preston. Yes, and I must be going. Well, how's 
the entertainment going to come off to-morrow, Miss 
Pamela ? 

Mrs. Collins. I hear you're going to dance, 
Pamela — a classical dance — how charming I ( To Lady 
Darnaway.) Well, good-bye, my dear, good-bye 
again. No, no, no — don't come out — ^please don't. 

(Lady Darnaway, Preston and Mrs. Collins go 
out amidst a volume of inanities from Mrs. Collins.) 

B 



18 THE TBUANTS. 

(Bent comes in to clear away the tea.) 
Pamela. Was that Mr. Bill who rode into the 
stables just now, Bent ? 

Bent. Yes, miss. ^^ 

Pamela. Who was with him ? 
Bent. No one, miss. 
Pamela. I thought I heard two horses. 
Bent. He was leading his horse, miss. 

(Lady Darnaway comes hack.) 

Pamela (starting forward). Queenie ? 

Bent. Yes, miss. [Exit.) 

Pamela. He's let her down. I'll bet you he's 
had a spill — ^Aunt See 

Lady Darnaway. Now, Pam, you are not to run 
across to the stables in those thin shoes, you've only 
just got rid of your cold. 

(Pamela not taking the slightest notice^ goes to the 
door.) 

Lady Darnaway (shouting). Pam, do you hear 
me ? (Stamping her foot.) Pam ! 

Pamela (coming hack). I wish you wouldn't shout 
so. Aunt See. (Pouting) Everybody orders me 
about. 

Lady Darnaway. But you never take the faint- 
est notice of what any one says, my dear, unless we 
shout at the top of our voices. Dick was complaining 
of you this morning. 

Pamela. Dick, indeed ! Why should I Usten to 
Dick if I've got to obey all my second cousins twice 
removed. 

Lady Darnaway. Once removed, my dear. 
Dick is your second cousin once removed. 

Pamela (at the window). Here's that awful Mrs. 
Collins coming back again. (Jumping down from 
the window and picking up Mrs. Collins' hasket 
which she has left on the table.) It's her bag, I suppose. 

Lady Darnaway (taking the hasket). I will not 
have you going to the door, Pam. 



THE TRUANTS. 19 

(Bill comes in, meeting Lady Darnaway just as she 

is going out.) 

Lady Darnaway. Is the mare hurt, Bill ? 
Bill. Yes. 

(Lady Darnaway goes out.) 

(Bill and Pamela alone.) 

Pamela {coming up to him). I say ! you've had a 
tumble — what's happened ? 

Bill {turns). What's happened — wire — that's 
what's happened. 

(Pamela goes to the door.) 

Here, where are you goin' ? 

Pamela. Just to have a look at Queenie, I shan't 
be a minute. 

{She goes out.) 

Bill {shouting angrily). Pam — come back — Pam, 
d'you hear me ? 

(Pamela comes hack.) 

Bill (fiercely). Nobody's to disturb 'er, now d'you 
hear what I say ? 

Pamela. All right. You needn't be in such a 
temper about it. 

Bill. That's likely to put me in a better temper, 
I suppose — talkin' hke that. {Sulkily.) You know 
I can't bear to see 'em suffer. 

Pamela {after a brief pause, looking at him) . I never 
can understand you, Bill. I beheve you'd sooner see 
a dozen human beings strung up one after the other, 
than an animal in pain. 

Bill. Come 'ere, girHe. {Grasps her arms, etc.) 

(Pamela comes to him.) 

Pamela {anxiously, looking at his wrist which is 
hound up with his handkerchief). Bill, what have you 
done to your wrist ? 



20 THE TRUANTS. 

Bill. Never mind that. The mare's hurt, I 
couldn't help it. You can never see this infernal wire 
till it's too late. But I'm in a vile temper and don't 
you say any thin' to make it worse. 

Pamela {with an irritating smile). Bill, shall I tell 
you something ? 

Bill. No. 

Pamela. I love to see you in a temper. 

(Lady Darn away comes hack, followed by Bent). 

Let me look at your wrist. 

Bill {putting his hands behind his back). You'll see 
me in a temper once too often, one of these days. 

Lady Darnaway. Are you hurt, Bill ? 

Bill. Hurt — no — the mare is though. {Goes to 
sideboard.) Bent, get my boot-jack and shppers. 

Lady Darnaway. Bill, I will not have the place 
turned into a pig-stye. You've no business to come 
into the room at all in that filthy state. 

Bill {helping himself to a whisky and soda — savagely). 
Haven't I ? {Turning round.) Look sharp. Bent. 
{Throwing himself in o a chair and swigging off his 
whisky and soda at a gulp.) Huntin's a fair rotten 
sport in this rotten old county, nowadays. 

Lady Darnaway. You were dilating on its merits 
last night and saying how it brought all the country- 
side together. 

Bill {with the same savage intensity). So it does 
where there's a gap in the hedge. I'm sick of the 
whole thing. {Looking at Pamela, then grumpily.) 
That's another new frock, Pam — that's the third this 
week. 

Pamela (r. table). Do you like it ? {Preening 
herself and posing to herself in front of the mirror.) 
Rather rivetting, isn't it ? 

Lady Darnaway. Rather what, Pamela ? 

Bill. Rivettin' — it's her latest word. Don't in- 
terfere with it, it's better than the one she was usin' 
last week. Everything was " noony " last week. 



THE TRUANTS. 21 

(Bent comes in with a dressmaker's box.) 

Bent [to Pamela). This has just come for you, 
miss. 

Pamela [looking at the label on the box — then in a 
transport of delight). Oh — oh ! [Cutting the string 
and opening the box in wild haste, pulling out what 
looks like a couple of butterfly nets minus the sticks and 
the wire.) [Holding the gauze up.) Oh, how perfectly 
rivetting ! Aunt See — look ! 

Bill [turning round in his chair). Eh ? 

Pamela. Bill ! My Salome dress for the classical 
dance ! and I never expected it till to-morrow morn- 
ing at the earliest. 

(Dick Chetwood comes in.) 

Dick. Hullo, Bill, had a near squeak with the 
mare, haven't you ? 

Bill [turning savagely). Now, if you've bin dis- 
turbin' her 

Dick. My dear man, I do know a Utile about 
horses — don't excite yourself. I've just been talking 
to the vet — he says she'll be all right in a fortnight. 

Bill [sulkily). 'Praps she will — but the vet don't 
know anythin' about it. [Turning to Pamela.) 
Hold it up, Pam — ^let's have a look at it. 

(Pamela holds up the Salome dress.) 

Lady Darn away [aghast). Is that what you pro- 
pose to perform your dance in at the entertainment 
to-morrow, Pamela ? 

Pamela [lost in ecstasy of admiration as she contem- 
plates the gauze). Isn't it simply rivetting ! 

Dick [sternly). Look here, Pamela, do you say 
you're going to dance in that at this show to-morrow ? 

Pamela [looking up at him with charming innocence). 
Course I am. 

Dick. Over what ? 

Pamela. Over what ? How do you mean, over 
what ? 



22 THE TRUANTS. 

Dick. What dress are you going to wear under- 
neath ? 

(Bent comes in and begins arranging the curtains.) 

Pamela {coming up to Dick with the most charming 
little " moue " in the world). Oh, you dear funny old 
cousin Dick, what a funny old-fashioned thing you 
are. You see, Aunt Louisa — it's allegorical — it re- 
present's Bach's Symphonies. {Holding up the dress 
and pointing to the bodice.) This represents his early 
period when he was comparatively obscure. This 
{pointing to waist) represents his middle period, and 
this {pointing to rest of skirt below the waist) represents 
his later period when he was perfectly transparent. 

Lady Darnaway {looking at dress). It's a very 
clever idea, Pamela, no doubt, but I cannot help wish- 
ing that Bach's period of obscurity had continued 
till a somewhat later moment in his career. 

(Pamela puts back the dress in the box, picks up the 
box and goes towards the door.) 

Lady Darnaway. Pamela, where are you going ? 
Pamela. To try it on, of course. 

(Pamela goes out.) 

Bill {laughing). Very amusin'. 
Dick. Awfully funny, I must say. 
Bill {laughing). Go and light the fire in Miss 
Pamela's bedroom at once. Bent, will yer. 

(Bent goes out.) 

Dick. Get the thing away from her. Aunt Selina. 

Lady Darnaway. My dear Dick, it's as much as 
my life's worth to attempt such a thing, I assure you. 
Pamela flies in such passions if you cross her. Her 
temper's less under control than ever, it's really most 
serious. {Crosses to table.) 

Dick. Then you must stop this. Bill. 

Bill. I stop it ! Why should I stop it ? 



THE TRUANTS. 23 

Dick. Well, you're engaged to Pam, or as good as 
engaged to her. 

Bill [starting up out of his chair). Engaged to her ! 
Who the deuce said I was engaged to her ? 

Dick. Pam thinks so certainly. 

Lady Darn aw ay. I'm sure I hope so, Bill, from 
the way you treat her. 

(Freda Savell is seen outside the big glass doors. 
She is a charming-looking girl of 26. She stands in 
front of the window outside. She is looking up and 
talking to Pamela who is supposed to be at her bed- 
room window.) 

Freda [outside but plainly visible to the spectators 
through the glass doors). Pam, darling — what ? 

Bill. I just say this 

Dick. That'll do. [Going to the door.) There's 
Freda outside. 

Bill [as Dick opens the door.) Freda be hanged. 
[Sits.) 

Freda [still outside and talking up at the window). 
Yes — such a lovely walk — what — changing what ? 
But that's the fourth time you've changed your frock 
to-day— yes — well, be quick then, 

(Freda comes in, followed by Bent.) 

Dick [kissing her fondly). Well, dearest — had a 
jolly walk ? 

Freda [impulsively). Oh, Dick, we've had such a 
glorious sight of the hounds. Jack and I were just 
coming out of the copse above Canby Hollow, and 
there was the fox sneaking along under the poplars, 
poor thing, simply dead beat, and he'd scarcely got 
out of the field before we heard them all coming. 
They caught the poor fox in the very next field. 

Bill. " Caught the poor fox ! " What did they 
catch him with — a butterfly net ? 

Dick [angrily). Look here 

Bill. Why don't you teach her to use the Ian- 



24 THE TRUANTS. 

guage about huntin' that every one else uses ? — It's 
only affectation talkin' like that. 

Freda [smiling). You missed the best run of the 
year, Bill — where were you ? 

Dick [anxiously — io Freda). Sh — sh ! 

(Bill gets up out of his chair and scowls at Freda 
savagely for a minute.) 

Bill [doggedly). To resume where we left off a 
minute ago, if any of you go spreadin' it about that 
Pamela and me are engaged to be married — well, 
you've only got yourselves to thank — that's all. 
[Looking at Freda.) Freda started the yarn. 

Dick. That's quite untrue, Bill ; but if you're 
not engaged to Pani and don't intend to be, you're 
behaving badly, that's all. You said when you 
came back you were going to marry. Only this 
morning we were discussing your settling down at 
Braxton, and when I spoke as I did I naturally 
thought 

Bill [breaking in on him). If you mean that unless 
I marry Pam you're not goin' to let me have Braxton 
— well, you're playin' it pretty low down, Dick, that's 
all I can say. I suppose you know if any one does, 
don't cher. Why I've been toilin' and slavin' and 
puttin' by every penny I could get hold of all these 
years. I've never had another thought in my head 
except gettin' Braxton as my own, and you know it. 
I know I've been thunderin' lucky to make the money 
I have. But I don't want the money, I want the 
place — I want Braxton. I offered to buy it of yer 
out and out, you wouldn't do that, you know I've 
sworn I'd go there ever since I was eight years old, 
but, mark yer, if you're goin' to try and force my 
hand and push me into a marriage that 

Dick. I shouldn't dream of making any such 
condition and you know that too. I've promised to 
make Braxton over to you and so I shaU very shortly, 
provided you behave like a sensible man. 



THE TRUANTS. 25 

Bill. Whether I marry or not you mean ? 

Dick. Certainly, as long as you behave yourself. 

Bill. Behave myself ! I tell you what, Dick, you 
and me v/ere good enough pals before you got engaged. 
It's Freda's put these notions into your head, and 
you're playing the hand wrong, Freda, if you only 
knew it. 

Freda (standing up and facing him too, then, after 
eyeing him first for a moment). I want to speak to 
you, Bill, a moment, if you don't mind. 

(She looks at the others, ivho make a movement towards 
the door.) 

Bill (to Freda). Bosh ! what on earth can you 
have to say to me that the others can't hear ! You're 
always wantin' to speak to people alone. It's a trick 
you got on your travels. 

Dick (sternly). That'll do, Bill, I shan't stand it 
much longer. 

Bill. She shouldn't rile me then, she knows I've 
lamed the mare. 

Freda. Indeed, Bill, I know nothing of the sort. 

Bill. Well, you saw me leadin' her. 

Freda. I wasn't thinking of either you or her at 
the moment. There are other things in the world of 
some importance besides dogs and horses. 

Bill. V^hat is it then ? For goodness' sake let's 
have it. 

Freda. Certainly, if you'd sooner the others heard 
it, it's entirely your own affair. Pinfold gave me 
notice last night. 

Bill. Pinfold — who's Pinfold ? 

Freda. Don't be silly — you know perfectly well — 
my maid. She said you tried to kiss her last night. 
(Freda looks at him, her eyes flashing.) 

Bill. Tried to — tried to — here (Striding 

across the room, to the others.) Go out, go out 
a minute. (Crosses R.) 



26 THE TRUANTS. 

Freda. Yes. A minute — will you, please ? 

{The others go out.) 
(Freda and Bill settle down to have it out.) 

Bill. Pinfold said I tried to kiss her last night, 
did she ? 

Freda. Yes. I don't want to quarrel, Bill. I 
know she's a httle minx — I don't pretend to trust her 
altogether, and I'll take your word for it, yes or no. 

Bill [looking in front of him). Quite untrue, my 
dear Freda. 

Freda. Thank you. (She goes towards the door.) 

Bill. Here, wait. What's the girl's name ? 

Freda {coming hack). Nonsense, Fm not going to 
tell you again. 

Bill. Whj^ the deuce should I remember the little 
slut's name. However, it don't matter. Well, 
then you can just hear the facts, they'll do you good. 
{Speaking with a pause between each word and emphasiz- 
ing each word by a tap with his fingers on the table.) 
Your maid gave you notice because she said I kissed 
her, well, the real reason why she's goin' is because I 
kissed — well, never mind — one of the other maids. 
That's what upset Pinfold. She don't like me 
changin' partners. 

Freda {cleiiching her fist). How dare you speak to 
me like that — oh, you 

Bill. Wait. You've just happened to take me on, 
my girl, this afternoon when Fm in a mood to give 
you a bit of my mind. 

{She makes a movement towards the door.) 

You'd better call in your darlin' Dick, if you're afraid 
Fm goin' to say anythin' to upset yer. 

(Freda comes back and sits down.) 

When was it you and Pam came here — eh ? Well — 
never mind, it don't matter. I kissed your precious 
Pinfold the second day you came, and Fll tell you 



THE TRUANTS. 27 

why. I kissed her because the dog died. {He 
pauses. Freda does not speak.) Well ? 

Freda. I'm exceptionally stupid, Bill, but I see 
no connexion between the two events. 

Bill. My dear Freda, you're as stoopid as an owl. 
There was Pinfold sobbin' and cryin' and bellerin' 
about the place. Fd done my best for the dog. I 
sat up all night with 'im. 

Freda. You were very kind about Punch. 

Bill. Well, he was gone, poor little beggar, and 
the only thing left for me to do was to pacify the girl. 
That was an awful crime I suppose, and now she 
comes to you last night and says, I tried to kiss 'er, 
tried to. Fd finished and done with 'er a week ago. 

Freda {in an eveit voice) . Yes, it was very deceit- 
ful of Pinfold — Fve listened to what you had to 
say- 



BiLL. Oh, I ain't half done yet. 

Freda. No, but before you go on, just listen to me 
for a moment. You've deliberately made love to 
Pam and she's desperately hard hit ; she's head over 
ears in love with you. 

Bill. Bosh ! {Crosses to table.) 

Freda. I know it seems funny. 

Bill. Thank'ee. There's women bin in love with 
me before now. 

Freda. Yes, what sort of women ? 

Bill. The ones that hke a master, there's lots 
about. My dear Freda, you're always on the high 
horse. Pam's as nice a little girl as ever lived. She's 
bin in love twice since I've bin back from Buenos 
Ayres, by all accounts. That ain't very long, is it ? 

Freda {springing up and coming towards him). 
Bill, I won't believe you're such a beast as you're try- 
ing to make yourself out — I won't believe it. The 
first day I was here when you were so good to Punch 
I thought how awfully nice you were, and {com- 
ing up to him and putting her hands on his shoulders) 
Oh, Bill, you're not Hke this, you're not like this, don't 



28 THE TRUANTS. 

say it. {She turns away, seeing no response.) Don't 

say it — Bill, don't, don't say it. I {She breaks 

off, sobbing.) 

{There is a pause. Bill throws himself into a chair 
heavily, and sits staring in front of him.) 

Bill {in a dull voice). I dunno. 

Freda {still sobbing). Bill. 

Bill. Women are jolly queer cattle. They never 
listen to reason. 

Freda {eagerly). Yes, yes, / will. I will, I'll listen 
to anything. {Takes chair and sits.) 

Bill. Well, listen then. Fifteen years ago I went 
out to Buenos Ayres without a bob in me pocket. I 
was a religious young cove. You wouldn't think it, 
but I was. You didn't know the old people, j^ou see. 
We were brought up to believe in things. If you'd 
told my old mother that Jonah didn't live three days 
and nights in the whale's belly, she'd have had a fit. 
See that chair, that's where my old dad used to sit 
every Sunday afternoon and give us our Scripture 
lesson, two hours of it, and if you couldn't answer the 
questions afterwards he took you into the other room 
and laid the huntin' crop across yer. That was the 
way we were brought up. They were all bosh in your 
opinion, I know. 

Freda. I never said that, Bill. 

Bill. You said somethin' uncommon like it. 

Freda. I only said that when religion was taught 
to children as it was taught to you and Dick, as some- 
thing quite apart from conduct, it was useless. And 
so it is. You're a good enough example of that, from 
what you've told me yourself of your life abroad. 
You seem to have pretty soon dropped every kind of 
principle, rehgious or anything else. 

Bill. I took the ways of the country as I found 
'em and fell into 'em. I've made money and man- 
aged men. I don't say everything I've done 'ud go on 
to the biograph at the Polytechnic. I've had more 



THE TRUANTS. 29 

than one bullet through me over one woman and 
another. I suppose if you knew everything I'd 
done 

Freda (shuddering). I hope I shall never do that. 

Bill [studying her grimly). Look here — I like you, 
Freda, and it's precious lucky for you I do if you knew 
it. You'll find that out some day. [He pauses, 
hesitating for a moment.) Do you know, I believe 
you'd sooner know everything that I'd done than that 
I knew everything that you'd done. 

Freda. What do you mean ? 

Bill. Nothin'. {Looking at her keenly.) Nothin', 
eh? 

Freda. I've had troubles. Bill, but I've never 
done anything in my life to be ashamed of. 

Bill (looking at her closely). You're a good plucked 
'un, Freda — shake hands — I ain't like you, you see, I 
don't pretend I haven't done things. (Crosses to 
fireplace.) I've put one or two fellers out of the world, 
for one thing. You'd call that murderin', but it ain't. 
No more murderin' than old Dick's job out in the Boer 
War, not a bit. If public war's justifiable, so's pri- 
vate war a great deal more justifiable. The men I 
put out would have put me out if they could. 

Freda. I daresay. 

Bill (chiickling grimly). Thank'ee. I had me 
own standards out abroad and I kept to 'em more or 
less. (Changing his tone suddenly to one of intense 
earnestness.) But I tell you, Freda, all the time out 
there I had at the back of my mind the notion that 
when I'd made enough money I could come back here 
and take up my Hfe as I'd left it. I thought of myself 
comin' back and behevin' in things and marryin' and 
bein' a churchwarden or somethin', and what did I 
find when I did come back, what did I find ? 

Freda. Oh, the whole country's changed, of 
course. I don't deny it. 

Bill. Yes, and it's you who've changed it. You 
— the women — it ain't the men — and you're one of 



30 THE TRUANTS. 

the regular new lot, Freda. Dick wrote to me six 
months ago to say he was in love with you, and I took 
some pains to find out somethin' about yer. 

Freda. Did you ? 

Bill. Yes, I've read your essays on free thinkin' — 
for one thing. 

Freda. That book was written a long time ago, 
Bill — I wish I'd never written it. 

Bill. That's what most people wish I hope 
when they write books — but you did write it, you see. 

Freda. It's utterly unfair to say it's on free think- 
ing, it's the grossest libel, it was an attempt to 
reconcile old things with new. 

Bill. It's against rehgion. (Crosses to table.) 

Freda. No, no, not in the way you mean. 

Bill. Look here, do you believe in miracles ? 

Freda. I tell you the book was written years ago 
when I was very young and very, very miserable. 

Bill. What do you beheve in now then ? 

Freda. Bill, how can a man like you have the face 
to cross-question me as to my beliefs ? 

Bill. Yes, you don't like it, but you've bin lec- 
turin' me, so you can just hear what I've got to say in 
answer. You see, you're runnin' the whole show 
here. Dick's so in love with you he sits lookin' at 
you like a stuffed goose. Pam's entirely under your 
influence. You've shaped her hfe accordin' to those 
essays. 

Freda [excitedly). I haven't. 1 h3.ven't. (Rismg.) 

Bill. I don't say you've done it consciously, but 
you've done it. If I'd come back and found things as 
I'd left 'em, I'd have toed the line and married, but 
now I shan't do anythin' of the kind. Why should I 
settle down and keep the commandments — none of you 
keep 'em, do yer ? Sunday's the great day in the 
country now for play in' bridge and motorin' ; you were 
playing bridge the Sunday before last in this room. 
You, Freda Savell — sittin' in my old dad's chair and 
laughin' at^ Pam whenever she said word to rhyme 



THE TRUANTS. 31 

with her own name, and when I said it was against my 
principles to play you thought that uncommon 
amusin'. 

Freda. What I thought amusing was your saying 
you had principles. 

Bill. Exactly. You sit in judgment on me. 
You've emancipated yourselves, you women — you 
think you can choose which commandments are to 
be kept and which ain't, but if you break the 4th 
Commandment in the drawin' room, why shouldn't 
I break the 7th in the kitchen. I don't say I have 
mind yer, but why shouldn't I — one commandment 
ain't more sacred than another, is it ? You've cut the 
ground from under your feet, you new women. 

Freda [angrily). I'm not a new woman, how dare 
you call me a new woman ? 

Bill. You're all new women — all the whole lot 
of yer. There ain't one in the whole country side 
left like my old mother. It's gone, that kind of thing. 
You don't go to church. But, look here, Freda, 
what's honour amongst men, or chastity amongst 
women, it's simply the product of Christianity. You 
women have secured your position through Christian- 
ity, and now you think you can chuck Christianity and 
keep your position. Where are the women in Turkey 
or Japan ? Either in harems or the places where the 
other sort are kept. You'll get back to the same sort 
of places pretty quick if you throw over the system 
that's put you where you are. 

Freda. Isn't there a proverb somewhere about the 
devil preaching ? 

Bill. Mine are better sermons than you preach 
to Pam, anyway. When I started makin' love to 
Pam I meant to marry her. She'd only marry to get 
more freedom as you call it — freedom — pah ! 

(Bill crosses r. Sits in chair.) 

Freda. Listen, Bill. A great deal of what you 
say is true — I won't deny it. When I wrote that 



32 THE TRUANTS. 

book I was horribly miserable and I did think that a 
great deal we were brought up upon was worn out 
and useless. You don't know what my life has 
been 

Bill. Don't I — p'raps I do. 

Freda. No. Nobody knows. But now — well — 
I'm in love with Dick. Oh, Bill, love changes every- 
thing — when a woman's in love — and poor little Pam, 
she is so desperately in love with you and you've got 
it all in you really to be a good fellow and settle down 
and be happy as you say — Bill 

Bill. Look here, you're very fond of Pam, ain't 
yer ? 

Freda. Fond of her ! I'm devoted to her in the 
sort of way that only one woman can be devoted to 
another. 

Bill (grinning). How's that ? 

Freda. As dumb creatures are devoted to their 
young. As a lioness is devoted to her cubs. It's an 
instinct men know nothing whatever about and never 
will know. (Looking at him fixedly.) I'd kill any one 
who injured Pam. 

Bill (smiling grimly). Yet you're always quarrel- 
lin', you and Pam. 

Freda. Because we've both got very hot tempers. 
That's nothing 

Bill. Well, if you're so fond of her as all that, 
why do you want her to marry a chap like me. 

Freda. Because she's desperately in love with 
you. 

Bill. She's told you that, has she ? (Rises.) 

Freda. No, Bill, you're quite wrong. She's never 
breathed a word of it. (Crosses to fireplace.) 

Bill. You're thunderin' clever, Freda, of course — 
but if she hasn't told you I don't know what right 
you've got to say so, I'm sure. 

Freda. Then I'll tell you — it was the day of the 
Silbury meet that I found it out, when you nearly 
sacrificed your life by stopping that pair of runaway 



THE TRUANTS. 38 

horses and saved poor old Lady Gordon's life. I 
can't think of it now without my heart beginning to 
thump. If I hadn't held on tight to Pam she'd have 
bolted after you. Ever since then — I've known how 
it was. Bill, you don't know what women are — when 
something stirs them hke that she'd foUow you like a 
little dog barefooted over the world. She's the sort 
who'd be happy with a husband like you — a master — 
and I know you, Bill ; if you married you'd give up 
thinking of any one but your wife. There have been 
tame Chetwoods and wild Chetwoods, but they've 
all been the same — when they've once married and 
settled down. {Crosses r.c.) 

Bill. Not with Pam, Freda, no ; if she was to 
marry now she'd look on it as you've encouraged her 
to look on it, simply as an extra chance of gettin' 'er 
own fway. Emancipation of the sex, as you talk of 
in your book — all right, you go on with it — but not 
through marryin' me, thank'ee. To get Pam to do 
what a man wanted, it would be no good to marry 
her. [Crosses to table.) 

Freda. What do you mean, Bill ; what do you 
mean by saying that ? 

Bill. Nothin', only with girls like her, they're 
more likely to do as they're told when they ain't sure 
a man belongs to 'em body and soul. 

Freda [coming to Mm and putting her hand on his 
arm). Bill, I know you're fond of her. 

Bill. Yes — I am — I don't deny it. 

Freda. You must do as I wish — you shall. 
You're not going to break her heart — Bill 

Bill [doggedly). You see, it's your fault partly 
that things have com^e to grief. That's why you don't 
Hke it — well, I must go and change. 

[He goes out.) 

(Freda sits down with her elbows on her knees and her 
face between her hands, staring in front of her. 
Then is a pause. In a moment the door opens softly 

c 



34 THE TRUANTS. 

and Pamela steals in noiselessly. She has wrapped 
herself up in a long ulster, wearing it peignoir fashion, 
i.e. her arms not through the sleeves. Her feet are 
hare, her hair is dressed Salome fashion. She 
steals softly up to Freda who is quite tmconscious 
of her presence, noiselessly she slides the ulster to the 
ground and appears in her " Maude Allan " costume.) 

Pamela. Freda. 

(Freda starts and looks up. She gets up and stands 
rigid, drawing her breath quickly.) 

Well, what do you think of it ? Rather rivetting. 

Freda {her breath coming quickly). Yes. (She 
comes close to her.) Turn round, let me see how it 
looks at the back. 

Pamela [coming quite close and turning round). 
Well, what do you think ? 

[Losing control of herself Freda suddenly gives her a 
resounding slap as hard as she can on the naked 
shoulder.) 

Freda. That's what I think. Go — go and take 
it off — go — go 

Pamela (turning round and facing her, quivering 
with passion). You beast, Freda. How dare you. 
[Between her teeth.) I shall wear it to-morrow. 

Freda. Pam, I lost my temper, I didn't mean 
to [She comes up to her.) 

Pamela. Don't touch me. Don't come near me. 

Freda. Oh, Pam, how could you put such a thing 
on, how could you ? Anybody might have seen you — 
any of the men. 

Pamela (picking her ulster up and throiving it over 
herself. Still in the white heat of passion). What on 
earth do you mean ? 

(Jack Carstairs, a hoy of g, comes in quietly, unob- 
served by the two girls.) 



THE TRUANTS. 3ff 

Who are you to go on at me like this ? You've done 
everything you can think of yourself and now you 
start suddenly being strait-laced with me. What is 
there against the dress, everybody's wearing them just 
now. People do anything they like nowadays, every- 
body does, nobody cares about anything, or believe 
in anything — it's you who've taught me not to believe 
in things 

Freda [in a low voice). Don't say such horribly 
cruel things to me, Pam. You'll only be sorry after- 
wards. 

Paimela. Yes — you have. Bill says you have. 
Why should you be the only person who's to blow 
hot and cold with the same breath ? (She goes out, 
slamming the door.) 

(Jack has stood quietly watching this scene. Freda 
sits down at the table and scrubs at her eyes silently 
with her knuckles.) 

Jack [coming up to her). What is it, Cousin Freda, 
what's the matter, what's Pam in such a temper 
about ? 

Freda. It's nothing, Jack darling, it's all right. 

Jack (climbing up into her lap and putting his arms 
round her neck). Don't cry, we were so happy out 
for a walk. 

(Freda is still wiping her eyes.) 

Mrs. Collins says women never ought to cry. 

Freda. When did she tell you that, darling ? 

Jack. I heard her telling Lady Darnaway. She 
says it spoils their complexions, 

Freda. I've lost my complexion long ago, Jack 
dear, I'm afraid. 

Jack (looking at her cheek) . What is a complexion ? 
Just skin, isn't it ? 

Freda. Well, it ought to be. 

(Dick comes in.) 



36 THE TRUANTS. 

Jack (taking a horribly filthy handkerchief out of his 

pocket). Haven't you got a handkerchief — there 

(He wipes her eyes.) Cousin Freda, do you know 
how much I love you ? 

Freda. How much, darling ? 

Jack. Shall I whisper it ? (He whispers in her ear.) 
There, you don't love me as much as that. 

Freda. Oh yes, I do. 

Jack. How much do you ? 

Freda. Better than all the world. 

Jack. Better than Dick ? 

Freda. Yes, better than Dick. 

Dick. Eh ? 

Jack (turning). Hullo! There now you know. 

Dick (laughing). Bent's found your guinea-pig, 
Jack. 

Jack (jumping down). By Jove, has she? 
Where ? 

Dick. Under the sink. 

Jack (going to the door). Chuck 'er up, and I shall 
just jolly well put my guinea-pig in Pam's bed to- 
night. Fancy getting in those rotten tempers. If 
I got in a temper like that at school I should get the 
stick. 

(He goes out.) 

Dick, ^^^lat's Pam been saying ? 

Freda. Oh, I don't know. (Th^-owing her arms 
round his neck.) Oh, Dick, Fm so dreadfully miser- 
able. 

Dick. Nonsense, what is there to be miserable 
about ? 

Freda. Oh, Pam's been so awful, we both lost our 
tempers and it all came out. She says Fve taught 
her to disbelieve in things, and I haven't, I haven't, 
you don't think so, Dick. Don't say you think so. 

Dick. Pam's a silly little goose. 

Freda. Dick, answer me, tell me do you think so ? 

Dick. Of course I don't — but 



THE TRUANTS. 1? 

Freda. What ? 

Dick. You used to talk rather freely about rehgiou 
and things till just lately. 

Freda. Till when ? 

Dick. Oh, I don't know. 

Freda. Shall I tell you ? Dick, there's something 
that sweeps all that right out of a woman's heart. 
All the philosophy, all the science, all the evolution 
of the sexes is gone — I think of quite other things 
now. 

Dick. What do you think of, my sweetheart ? 

Freda. Silence, the air, the whispering of the 
summer wind across the meadows on a June evening 
— things like that, things one can never tire of — 
Dick 

Dick. Well ? 

Freda. When you asked me to marry you, I 
wanted to tell you everything, didn't I ? 

Dick. I know, darling — but 

Freda. All that's happened to me — I offered to, 
didn't I? And now — I would — now — if you 

Dick. I tell you, Freda, when you get morbid and 
nervous and jumpy like this I simply can't stand it. 
What's the past ? What do I care about that ? I 
don't care what you've done. Good Lord — it's the 
future we've got to think of, dearest — the glorious 
future — straight in front of us. 

Freda. Somebody says the future simply is the 
past entered by another gate. 

Dick. There you go again. Look here, Freda, if 
Pam upsets you again like this — Til 

(Bill rushes in.) 

Bill. Confound it, Dick, where are the servants ; 
why the deuce do you let everybody go out like this ? 
Look here. [He hands him a telegram.) 

Dick {looking at telegram). Good Lord I 

Freda. What's the matter ? 

Bill. What's the matter, why my manager at 



gig THE TRUANTS. 

Dioz has hooked it, with everything he can lay his 
hands on. I must go to the London office at once. 
Where's the motor ? 

Dick. The chauffeur's about somewhere. 

Freda. I'll find him, Bill. 

Bill. Do, Freda, as quick as you can. 

(Freda goes out.) 

Bill. I shall have to start for America to-morrow. 

Dick. How can you start to-morrow ? The 
boats only run once a week. 

Bill. I've looked it all out, I tell you. {Holding 
up the telegram.) This is cabled from Paris, d'you 
see ? They want to see me at the Paris office to- 
morrow, and there's a steamer goes from Marseilles 
two days after, I shall do it easy. Infernal nuisance 
though. Dick, old man, can't we settle about the 
transfer of this Braxton property before I go ? 

Dick. My dear fellow, the lawyers are seeing to it 
now. I'll come up to London with you and see them 
at once and get the whole thing put through. I'll 
get Finch to dine with me to-night and we'll settle 
everything. 

Bill. Thanks awfully. We'll motor up now, 
they're waitin' for me at the London office, and I'll 
come back here this evenin' and pack up my things. 

(Freda comes hack, followed hy Lady Darn aw ay.) 

Freda. The car'll be ready in a couple of minutes. 
Bill. Thanks. Don't say a word to Pam. I 
shall be back by seven o'clock. 

(Dick and Bill go out) 

Lady Darnaway. What's the matter ? 

Freda. His manager in Dioz has bolted. He's got 
to go out there. 

Lady Darnaway. Perhaps that's not a bad thing 
either as matters stand. [Holding up the Salome 
dress.) Freda, I managed to get this out of Pam's 



THE TRUANTS. 39 

room without her knowing. Did you see her dressed 
up in it ? 
Freda. If you can use such a word — yes. 

(Freda takes the Salome dress and turns it over.) 

Lady Darnaway. You've more influence with 
her than anybody. You must stop her wearing it 
to-morrow. 

Freda. She's in a fury with me. 

Lady Darnaway. No, not now. She was cry- 
ing in her room and said she was awfully sorry for 
something she'd said to you. 

(Pamela comes in in her ordinary frock.) 

You know I really don't know what the country's 
coming to — I 

Pamela. Freda. 

Freda. What is it, Pam ? 

(Lady Darnaway goes out.) 

Pamela. I'm awfully sorry — ^but you'd no busi- 
ness to slap me. 

Freda. Oh, Pam, I'd give anything — anything 
in the world to undo any harm I've ever done you. 

Pamela. I didn't mean what I said, Freda, really 
I didn't. 

Freda. Ah, but there's some truth in it, and if 
you only knew what I feel about it all — I owe every- 
thing to you. If it hadn't been for you I should 
never have met Dick. 

Pamela. That's only chance. 

Freda. I know, but it doesn't alter it and all those 
days you nursed me and wouldn't leave me when I 
was so desperately ill, and now that I've got every- 
thing I want and I'm so happy — if I've done any- 
thing to spoil your happiness 

Pamela. Don't be such a stupid, silly old thing. 
You know, Freda, your engagement has made you — 
shall I tell you ? 



40 THE TRUANTS. 

Freda. What ? 

Pamela {goes to table). Well, rather mawkish — 
getting engaged does sometimes. I've noticed it 
with people. Now you've got it into your head that 
that dress I'm going to dance in to-morrow isn't quite 
nice, but you don't reahze that we're going to have 
a dim hght, a sort of religious hght with incense and 
things — and 

Freda {waxing hot again). You're mad, Pam, 
clean out of your mind. {Picking up the dress which 
Pamela has not noticed before.) D'you mean to say 
you could put this on and stand up before — you a girl 
who has been brought up as 

Pamela {rushing forward) . Give it me. {Stamp- 
ing her foot.) Freda — it's mine — give it me. How 
dare you steal it out of my room ! I 

Freda {pushing her off) . I shan't give it you. I'm 
going to burn it, you ought to be whipped. 

(Pamela attempts to close with Freda to snatch the 
dress and succeeds in tearing a piece off. Freda, 
in spite of Pamela's struggles, moves towards the 
fire. Panting as they fight over it.) 

Pamela. If you do ! if you do ! 

{They fight it out, but Freda being the stronger gets 
the dress into the fire, and puts her foot on it. The 
fiume starts up.) 

(Pamela, seeing it's all over, ceases struggling and 
stands livid with passion.) 

Pamela. All right — I know you — I know what 
you've done — that time you were ill and gave me 
your keys to get those things out of your despatch 
box — I saw — I read some of those letters. I'll tell 
Dick— I'll tell everybody. 

(Freda seizes her by the wrists. The two stand 
quivering, looking at each other.) 

Freda. What will yon tell ? 



THE TRUANTS. 41 

{There is a pause. Freda is still staring into Pamela's 
eyes, hut her grip relaxes, then she lets go and her 
hands drop by her side. Pamela's lip begins to 
quiver, then she breaks down as the fit of passion 
passes. She throws herself sobbing on the floor, 
clasping her arms round Freda's skirts.) 

Pamela. Oh, I won't tell — I won't, I won't. I'll 
never tell a soul. I never will. I swear it. Oh, 
Freda — say you forgive me — Freda 

Quick Curtain. 



ACT II 

(The evening of the same day — the Scene is Pamela's 
bedroom : in the back wall there is a window. The 
two side walls each have a door, the one in the left 
hand wall facing the spectators, leading into the 
passage, the other in the right hand wall leading to a 
dressing-room adjoining the bedroom. A Scene 
Plot will be found at the end of the play. As the 
Scene opens Bent comes in by the passage door, 
makes up the fire and draws the curtains, etc. The 
room is in a terrible mess, strewn about with Pamela's 
clothes. Bent tidies away one or two things, takes 
a dressing-gown out of the cupboard and goes into 
the dressing-room. In a moment Jack Carstairs 
pokes his head through the passage door. He is in 
his night-shirt and his feet are bare, in one hand he 
is carrying his guinea-pig wrapped up in his under- 
vest. He looks stealthily round, untucks the bed at 
the bottom, unwinds the guinea-pig, strokes it and 
kisses it a moment and then puts it in the bed and 
tucks up the bed at the bottom again. Just as he has 
finished this Bent comes in, shutting the door between 
the dressing-room and the bedroom after her. She 
stands for a moment in mute indignation, watching 
Jack.) 

Bent. Well, I never. 

Jack. Hullo, Benty. 

Bent. Now what are you doing in here at this 
time of night, Master Jack ? 

Jack. Doing ? Only come to say good-night. 
Where's Pamela ? 

42 



THE TRUANTS. 43 

Bent. Where's Miss Pamela. Never you mind 
Where's Miss Pamela. 

Jack. Is she in the dressing-room there ? {point- 
ing to the dressing-room). 

Bent. Never you mind, Master Jack ! 

Jack. I bet she is then. Is Jessie with her ? 

Bent. Jessie's gone to bed with a sick headache, 
and you run along now, trapesin' about these 
draughty passages with not a stitch on you hardly. 
Do you know it's after ii o'clock ? Run along at 
once, or I shall go straight and tell her ladyship. 

Jack {shaking his head with an air of conviction). 
Oh no, you won't. 

Bent {picking up some of Pamela's things which 
are strewn about the room). Indeed I shall then. 
Master Jack, so just you mind what I say. 

Jack. Then you'll be a sneak, that's all. 

Bent {busy tidying up). That won't make no 
difference to me being a sneak, as you call it. So that 
I can promise you. 

Jack. Won't it, then ? I'll bet you it will — 
Sneaky old Benty. That's what you'd be called all 
your life — I wouldn't be a beastly sneak anyhow. 

Bent. Now are you going. Master Jack ? 

Jack. How long will Pamela be then ? 

Bent. Gracious me, I don't know. Half an hour 
I dessay. 

Jack. She's bin making a jolly good mess in here 
— what's she chucked all her clothes about the room 
like this for ? 

Bent. Very well, I shall go straight for her lady- 
ship then. 

Jack. Good-night, Benty. You ain't a bad old 
sort. Give us a kiss, old Benty. 

Bent {kissing him). We shall 'ave you in bed 
to-morrow with one of them bad colds on your chest, 
see if we don't. 

Jack. I say, who did you walk home from church 
with last Sunday, eh, Benty ? 



44 THE TRUANTS. 

Bent. Will you be off now ? 

Jack. You'd better be careful, you know. He's 
Jessie's young man. 

Bent. 'Ow dare you put such stories about, 'oo's 
Jessie's young man ? 

Jack. Why, Johnson, the new chauffeur. {Com- 
ing up to her.) Benty, shall I tell you something ? 
He's going to take Jessie out in the motor to-night. 

Bent. It's a downright good whipping you want. 
Master Jack, and nothing else, that's what it is, 
spreading such wicked false'oods, I can't think 'ow 
you dare to do it. 

Jack. W^ell, he's going to take some one out. 

Bent. Of course he is, you silly little boy, he's 
going to take Mr. Bill to London. 

Jack. Yes, but there's going to be some one else 
besides him and Mr. Bill in the car though, 'cos when 
I was in the kitchen just now, Johnson came in and 
said he wanted the hot-water bottles filled for the 
motor to-night. 

Bent. Such rubbish, why shouldn't Mr. Bill want 
the hot-water bottles, I should like to know ? 

Jack. Oh, I say, that's good — that's ripping, 
fancy old Bill wanting hot-water bottles. I tell you 
what, p'raps Mr. Bill's going to take Jessie out with 
him to South America as housekeeper. He rather 
likes her, you know. 

Bent. Now just you 'ark to me. Master Jack, if 
I 'ear another word of it I shall go straight and tell 'er 
ladyship, that I shall, spreadin' about such wicked 
falsehoods. I never 'card tell of anythink like it in 
all my life. 

Jack. Very well. I just shan't tell you anything 
again, that's all. I'll bet you a shilling they're going 
to take somebody with them in the motor to London 
to-night, anyhow — Mr. Bill and your young man are, 
and that somebody isn't a man either, because John- 
son put her ladyship's old fur motor coat in. I saw 
him do it. 



THE TRUANTS. 40 

Bent (stamping hey foot) . Now are you going to 
bed? 

Jack. Course I am. And if you sneak I shall 
jolly well tell Johnson you got me into a rov/. 

(Bent goes into the dressing-room as Jack pretends 
to go out; in a second Jack comes in again, climbs 
on a chair, makes a " Booby trap " with his cardboard 
box of flour over the top of the passage door by which 
he has come in. He then hides under the bed. 
Pamela comes in from the dressing-room, followed 
by Bent. Pamela has taken off her dress and is 
in her petticoat and stays — evening stockings and 
shoes, her hair has not been touched since she had it 
done for dinner. Bent offers her her dressing- 
gown, holding it for her to put it on.) 

Pamela. Never mind that. Go and tell Jessie 
she must come down at once, Bent. 

Bent. She's in bed, miss, I 'aven't left 'er five 
minutes. 

Pamela [very cross). What on earth's the matter 
with her ? She was perfectly well after dinner. 

Bent. It was Miss Freda sent her to bed, miss. 
Shall I brush your hair ? 

Pamela. No. It's simply sickening 

Bent. Can I do anything else for you, miss ? 

Pamela. No, thank you. 

Bent. Good-night, miss. 

Pamela. Good-night. 

(Bent goes to dressing-room door and goes out.) 

(Pamela left alone, pulls a small kit-bag out of the 
wardrobe and begins stuffing one thing after another 
into it with feverish haste. Suddenly she stops, 
listens — shoves the bag back into the wardrobe, shuts 
the door, pulls off her shoes and stockings, huddles on 
her nightdress over her stays and petticoat, lets down 
her hair and sits in front of the glass as if she was 
doing her hair preparatory to getting into bed.) 



46 THE TRUANTS. 

(Lady Darn away comes in.) 

Lady Darnaway. Pamela, really, do you know 
what the time is ? And what on earth's all this 
dreadful mess ? 

Pamela. I don't know. Jack's been making 
hay here, I suppose. 

Lady Darnaway. Nonsense, I said good-night 
to Jack an hour ago. There's something very un- 
scrupulous, Pamela, in your always putting every- 
thing on to that child. If all children were as 
obedient as Jack 

Pamela. When does a girl stop being a child, 
Aunt See ? 

Lady Darnaway. When she stops behaving like 
one, my dear. The first thing the specialist insisted 
upon when I took you to him last week was that you 
should go to bed early. Do you know what would 
have happened to me, Pamela, if I had been dehber- 
ately disobedient time after time at your age ? 

Pamela. Yes, I know perfectly well. You've 
told me so very many times, you dear Aunt See. 
(Getting up and still twisting up her hair.) Do you 
know, I do think it was such a mistake to bring up 
children as you were brought up. 

Lady Darnaway. Indeed, Pamela, and why do 
you think it was a mistake ? 

Pamela. It was so very unsuccessful. Of course 
naturally elderly people can't see it for themselves. 

Lady Darnaway. Thank you, Pamela. 

Pamela. Oh, of course, I don't mean you ; how- 
ever you'd been brought up you'd have been a 
perfect old dear — everybody says so. 

Lady Darnaway. It's very sweet of you, Pamela, 
to take such a lenient view of my particular case. 

Pamela. No, no, I'm not prejudiced, Aunt See, 
really it is so. If ever I'd obeyed anybody, it would 
C3rtainly have been you — you're just the exception 
that proves the rule. Of course I don't mean to say 
you're not trying sometimes, we all must have our 



THE TRUANTS, 47 

moods. Nobody can help that, can they ? But, 
taken as a whole, well / don't hope to be any nicer 
than you at your age — I don't, really. Most elderly 
people are so very trying, aren't they ? So fidgetty — 
so critical, and so very borne. {Kissing her fondly.) 
Good-night, you dear old Aunt See ; whatever I do 
you'll always love me, won't you ? {She goes off to 
get into bed.) 

Lady Darnaway. Pamela, have you forgotten 
your prayers ? 

Pamela. I'm going to say them in bed. It's 
perfectly all right, I asked the speciahst about it. 

Lady Darnaway. Asked the specialist about 
your prayers ! 

Pamela {sitting up in bed). Yes, when you were 
out of the room. I said as I was so delicate might I 
say them in bed sometimes, and he said t here was no 
objection so long as I didn't he on my left side. 
Now you must really go, dear, or you'll never get any 
sleep at all. 

Lady Darnaway {coming and kissing her) . Good- 
night, you naughty child, I don't know why we're all 
so fond of you. Oh, there was one thing I wanted 
to ask you, Pamela. What was Lord Strelland 
saying to you this evening ? 

Pamela. I don't know. When ? 

Lady Darnaway. When he came back, just 
before dinner. 

Pamela. I don't know in the least. 

Lady Darnaway. But I saw him talking to you. 

Pamela. Yes, but I took jolly good care not to 
listen though. 

Lady Darnaway. What do you think of Lord 
Strelland, Pamela ? 

Pamela. I never think of people like that. It 
only gives you indigestion. 

Lady Darnaway. You don't Hke him ? 

Pamela. Well, if you ask me, I think he's the 
most rancid person I ever met, 



48 THE TRUANTS. 

Lady Darn a way. The most what ? 

Pamela. Rancid — putrescent. I hate people who 
give themselves airs. What did he come poking 
about down here again to-night for ? 

Lady Darnaway. He wanted to see Freda. I 
told him she was out and probably couldn't see her 
till Sunday, and he was so rude. " Please tell Miss 
Savell," he said, " I will call to-morrow morning 
and would she make a point of being in, as it's a 
matter of the greatest importance." Of course I 
shall tell Freda, but I don't see why I should bother 
her to-night. 

Pamela. I should think not indeed. Why should 
his concerns come before everything ? Good-night, 
you darling Aunt See. 

Lady Darnaway. Good-night, dearest. And 
oh, Pamela, Lve just brought you this. Now I 
shall leave it on the mantelpiece. {She takes an 
envelope from the hook she has in her hand.) Don't 
look at it to-night, you are not in the mood for it, 
it's only a few words, but if you added them to what 
you say in the morning, I'm sure it might be helpful. 
Will you, Pam, as a special favour to me ? 

Pamela. Of course I will. 

(Lady Darnaway sticks the envelope on the mantel- 
piece, and goes to the door.) 

I'll turn out the light. 

(Lady Darnaway goes out) 

(Pamela leaps out of bed with a faint scream.) 

Oh! 

Jack {appears from under the bed). Hullo — did he 
get you ? 

Pamela. You horrible child, what is it ? What 
have you put in my bed ? 

Jack {putting his hand in under the bed-clothes and 
securing the guinea-pig). Wait a sec — all right — I've 



THE TRUANTS. 49 

got him. Scored off you that time, Pammy, for once 
anyhow — did he get you, I say ? 

Pamela. You sickening child, go out of my room 
at once. 

{Going to the door with his guinea-pig, he takes the 
envelope off the mantelpiece.) 

Jack. Hullo, what's this? (Reading.) "From 
all our evil passions, good Lord, dehver us." By 
George, I shouldn't care to have had that written 
about me anyhow. 

(Jack goes out.) 

(Pamela left alone jumps out of bed again, pulls the 
kit-bag out of the cupboard, throws in one or two more 
things, lugs off her nightdress, bundles it in on the 
top. Switches off the light, lights a candle and sets 
it in the window, pulls on her stockings and begins 
rummaging about the room — rushing and switching 
on the light again.) 

Pamela. Where is Jessie ? 

(Finding a pair of lace-up boots in the corner she pulls 
them on and laces them up in hot haste, then she pulls 
on her walking-skirt. As she is fastening it she 
stops suddenly and listens.) 

Freda ! 

(She switches off the light quickly, jumps into bed again 
in her clothes and boots, pulling the bed-clothes well 
round her and smiggling down.) 

(In a moment the door opens and Freda comes in. 
Freda stands for a second looking at the figure in the 
bed, then she switches on the light again and stands 
watching Pamela, who is snoring audibly.) 

Freda. Pam ! 

(Pamela continues to snore, overdoing it now, and giv- 
ing herself hopelessly away. Freda goes nearer.) 

D 



aO THE TRXTANTS. 

(Louder.) Pam ! (Coming close up to her and putting 
her hand on her shoulder and shaking her gently.) 
Pam, dear. 

(Pamela gives as impressive an imitation as she can of 
a person awaking from a deep sleep.) 

Pamela. What is it ? What's the matter ? 
Freda. Pam ! 

Pamela (rubbing her eyes). Yes. 
Freda. I wanted to speak to you for a mimite. 
Pamela. You're always wanting to speak to 
people. Yes — what is it ? 

(In one hand Freda is carrying her despatch box. 
It is an oblong leather box twelve inches by six or 
thereabouts, and four or five inches deep. She holds 
it by a leather strap fixed across the top.) 

Freda (standing by the table). You remember 
what you said this afternoon, I want you to look 
at these letters. 

(Freda puts the box on the table and opens it.) 

Pamela. I'm horribly sleepy, won't it do to- 
morrow ? 

Freda. No. I want you to tell me which of 
the letters it was you saw. 

Pamela. I didn't see any of them, Freda, really. 

Freda. Come. 

Pamela. Well, anyhow, I can't do it to-night. 
I'm dog tired, and I simply must go to sleep. You're 
always going on at me for not going to bed early. 
You told me you were dead sleepy yourself, when 
I said good-night to you just now. 

Freda. Where have you been since ? 

Pamela. Only to the kitchen to get something 
to eat. 

Freda. You said you were going straight to bed. 

Pamela. Yes, and you said you were, too. You 
said you couldn't keep your eyes open. 



THE TRUANTS. fil 

Freda. I dozed off in my chair and then when 
I roused myself and began to think about bed I was 
so desperately wide awake, I put on my cloak and 
went for a stroll in the garden. 

Pamela. How romantic. 

Freda. Yes. I was looking up at your window. 
I saw you put that candle there. 

Pamela. Indeed. How amusing, you'd never 
guess what I was doing. 

Freda. No. When you pull up the blind any 
one outside can see almost everything that's going 
on in the room. 

Pamela. Look here, Freda, I don't want to turn 
you out. You happen to be extremely talkative 
and wakeful to-night, but I'm not. The doctor 
ordered me to go to bed early. Aunt See's just been 
jawing me because I'm so late, so that if you can't 
take the hint 

Freda {sharply). Come, come, don't be stupid, 
get up. 

Pamela. Get up. You must be out of your 
senses, Freda ; why on earth should I get up at this 
time of night ? 

Freda. Well, for one thing, I want you to tell 
me about those letters. You can't expect me to go 
to bed and sleep after what you said this afternoon. 

Pamela. There's nothing to tell. And if there 
was I can't possibly do it now. It's downright cruel 
of you, Freda, to come and persecute me in the 
middle of the night like this, when you know how 
delicate I am, and what the doctor has said and 
everything. 

Freda [coming up to the bed and putting her hand 
071 the bed clothes). You're not going to get up ? 

Pamela. Go out of my room at once, Freda, do 
you hear me? It's my bedroom. 

(Freda, in spite of Pamela's strttggle, pulls her out 
of bed. Pamela gets up. The two stand looking 



62 THE TRUANTS. 

at each other, Pamela furious, Freda eyeing her 
calmly.) 

Pamela. I tell you what, I shan't stand this any 
longer. I'm simply bullied and badgered and hunted 
about in this house from morning till night. I shall 
write to Aunt Charlotte to-morrow and ask her if 
I can't come and stay with her for a bit. I was just 
getting into bed when Aunt See came and lectured 
me, and then when she'd gone I just picked up my 
Bible a minute to read a few Psalms like I always 
do before getting into bed 'cos I promised Aunt 
Charlotte, and then I thought I heard Aunt See 
coming along the passage again, so I jumped into 
bed like this to avoid another fuss, and now you 
come in and keep me talking till any hour of the night. 

Freda. Yes. It's horribly late, as you say. 

Pamela. Jessie's gone to bed. I've no one to 
help me, or I should have finished ages ago. 

Freda. Very well. I'll help you, Pam — we'll 
leave the letters to-night — they can wait. Where's 
your nightdress ? 

Pamela. No thanks, I'll undress myself, I shall 
be much quicker. You don't know where my things 
are or anything. 

Freda. Oh, I can find them. {She goes to the 
wardrobe.) 

Pamela. Leave my things alone. [Stamping 
her foot.) Freda 

(Freda ot>ens the wardrobe door, pulh out the kit-bag 
and extracts Pamela's nightdress from it.) 

Freda. It's dreadful]}/ crumpled I'm afraid. 

Pamela [stamping her foot). That beast Jessie, 
if she'd 

Freda. It isn't the faintest use your going on 
like this, Pam, is it ? It was I who sent Jessie to 
bed. You shouldn't have let her into your plans. 

Pamela. Little beast, 



THE TRUANTS. 53 

Freda. Where do you propose to go to-night ? 

Pamela. That's my business, I'm twenty-one. 
I can do exactly as I please. It's nothing to do 
with any one except myself. 

Freda. Yes, Pam, it has to do with me. 

Pamela. It hasn't — it hasn't, I tell you. I've 
no mother — I'm quite alone, with no one to advise 
me. I've got to manage my own life and I'm going 
to do it my own way. 

Freda. You mean that you and Bill are going 
away to-night without being married ? 

Pamela. I never said anything of the kind, and 
I refuse to be cross-questioned. I'm my own mis- 
tress. 

Freda. Pam, I talked to Bill this afternoon. I 
told him that we all thought you and he were en- 
gaged. Do you know what he said ? 

Pamela {bursting out now that further fighting is 
useless). Yes, yes — I know — I know — we had a 
talk directly he came back before dinner. {Throw- 
ing herself into Freda's arms.) Oh, Freda, I love 
him — I love him — I love him. You don't know 
how I love him. 

Freda {soothing her). Yes, I do, darling. I do 
know. 

Pamela. We're not going to do anything wrong 
— we were meant for each other. I shall make him 
love me. You know what Bill is, what you said to 
me yourself about him, if once he really gave himself 
to any one he'd stick to them. 

Freda. I said that if once he married any one 
he'd stick to them — yes, I beheve that. 

Pamela. And this is going to be exactly the 
same, exactly. It isn't as if we were going to live 
in some English country parish — on the ranch out 
there — it 

Freda. It's madness, Pam, sheer madness to 
go on like that — -nobody knows it better than you do. 

Pamela. I don't know it then. I've argued it 



64 THE TRUANTS. 

out and questioned myself, and I'm perfectly certain 
that I'm doing what's right. 

Freda. Right ? 

Pamela. Yes, I shall prove to him the stuff I'm 
made of. He doesn't think I can stick to it, but he 
doesn't know one side of me. Things are absolutely 
different out there — there are no conventions — 
there's no society. We shall live a regular gipsy life, 
and I shall love it. I shall show him what I am, and 
when I've done that — when I've proved to him I'm 
not just an empty-headed little flirt — that I can 
live the sort of life he wants his wife to live — you 
know what Bill is, as well as I do. He'll simply 
come on his knees and beg me to marry him and 
we shall come back and settle down at Braxton. 

It's all as plain, if you'd only see it (Crosses 

to fireplace.) 

Freda. Pam, darling, will you listen to me just 
a second. 

Pamela. Well. 

Freda. Ever since the world began people have 
tried to do what you are going to do now. 

Pamela. Yes. And heaps of times it's been a 
success. 

Freda. Not with women like ourselves, Pam 
— never — never — not with a girl who comes of the 
stock that you do, who's been brought up as you 
have. There are generations, centuries behind you 
that you know nothing about, but they are as much 
part of you as the skin on your body. If you think 
you can tear yourself in two and throw half of your- 
self away, and then live on happy with the other 
half, the crippled shameful vestige of what you are 
at this minute — you're utterly mistaken. 

Pamela. I've thought it all out most carefully, 
I tell you. I'm not acting on the spur of the mo- 
ment, I've argued it all out over and over again. 

Freda. Yes, there are no arguments in the 
world so plausible as those used by lunatics. You 



THE TRUANTS. S5 

think you're thoroughly alert, that you're weighing 
everything in your own mind quite naturally — 
but you're dreaming. You're simply in a night- 
mare, you're just plunging about in a prison of 
grotesque shadows where everything's a hideous 
topsy-turvy. You'll wake up when it's too late, 
you'll wake and see it all just as I see it. 

Pamela. Freda, you know as well as I do that 
there are plenty who've done as I'm doing, and been 
perfectly happy afterwards. 

Freda. There may have been some who haven't 
the capability of feeling sufficiently deeply to be 
miserable, but they're not like you, Pam. Wake 
up from your sleep and you'll hear the voice — the 
voice in the garden in the cool of the day — and you'll 
hide yourself ! 

Pamela (rises). It's no use throwing texts at my 
head. It's ludicrous to expect me to listen to them 
— from you of all people. 

Freda. It isn't a text. It's simply a truth that 
lies at the bottom of everything which holds society 
together. And even if it was a text, Pam, why 
shouldn't you listen to it. You talked about your 
Bible just now, you always used to read it. 

Pamela. Do you read yours ? 

Freda. Yes, I do. I've gone back to the New 
Testament. {Goes up stage.) 

Pamela. Of course you have ; and if I was in 
love with Dick I should have gone back to the New 
Testament ; but as I'm in love with Bill I've got 
to go back to the Old. That's just it, and we shall 
be Old Testament people and live an Old Testament 
life, like Abraham and Hagar and heaps of the others. 
You see you're going to marry and settle down 
comfortably in a country parish, and count the 
peaches on the wall and all that. Things haven't 
gone so well for me, and I'm just going to make up 
my mind to take what I can get, I know I can make 
Bill happy. 



06 THE TRUANTS. 

Freda. Make him happy. {Comes down.) Rub- 
bish ! No matter how much a man Hke that tries 
— if you do this — he won't be able to help despising 
and hating you — yes, hating you for having let him 
do it. I know Bill a great deal better than you do. 

Pamela. Indeed you don't. 

Freda. I do, Pam. It's impossible for a girl 
who hasn't had the experience to know anything 
about men like Bill. Men like him divide women 
into two classes, the one you're in now and the one 
you're going to put yourself in in a few minutes. 
And when such men have anything to do with women 
of that class all the very lowest dregs that have ever 
been churned together to poison humanity are 
suddenly quickened to life in them. 

Pamela. I don't understand you. 

Freda. No — you don't want to understand. 

Pamela. Oh yes I do. I don't pretend that I 
may not be foolish — that remains to be proved, 
but I can't for the life of me see that I'm doing any- 
thing wrong. 

Freda (goes r.). Because you're blind for the 
moment. That's all. 

Pamela {comes c). No, Freda, it's you who are 
blind. Think of it for a moment rationally, how 
in the name of fortune can some words, said in 
church — or not even necessarily in church accord- 
ing to you — it's just a few words, spoken by some 
old butcher or baker who's been made a magistrate 
or registrar or something, that's going to make all 
the difference between right and wrong, happiness 
and misery, pride and shame and everything else. 
It's sheer nonsense, it's just one of those old super- 
stitions that I've heard you attack over, and over 
again till you got engaged to Dick. 

Freda. That's what you imply, is it ? 

Pamela. Imply, what do you mean ? 

Freda. It's through things I've said that you 
feel like this. 



THE TRUANTS. 57 

Pamela. I didn't say that — ^but 

Freda. Do you say it, Pam ? 

Pamela. Well 

Freda. Do you ? — do you ? 

Pamela. Yes — I do — there. You didn't mean 
it — but you've done it. And now you think you 
can turn round and snatch it all away — but I tell 
you you can't. I daresay it will turn out as you 
say and end in misery. But if Bill goes off now 
without me — that's misery enough I suppose. I 
don't see how an5rthing could be worse than that. 
I beheve it will all come right {getting her jacket and 
putting it on), and I'm going to chance it. 

Freda. No, you're not. 

Pamela. Who's going to stop me ? 

Freda. I am — and I will. 

Pamela. You think you can stop a man like 
Bill, do you, when he's made up his mind. 

Freda. We shall see. 

Pamela. You'd better let it alone, Freda, I 
think. 

Freda. Yes — ^but I'm not going to let it alone. 
Especially after what you've just said. 

Pamela. Then you'll interfere at your own risk, 
that's all I can say. 

Freda. I'm not in the least afraid of Bill, Pa- 
mela, if that's what you mean. 

Pamela. Oh no, I know — but — well — he knows 
things — he's found out something. 

Freda. You mean you've told him something 
that you saw in some of those letters there, I suppose. 

Pamela. No, no, I haven't — I swear to j^ou I 
haven't. I don't know anything — I happened to 
glance at something and I only saw something about 
— a secret. When I was in a passion this afternoon 

it came out. But I know nothing Only — 

Bill knows something. I'm certain he does from 
what he's said to me. And there is something — 
something you don't want to get about. 



58 THE TRUANTS 

Freda. Yes, there is something, and if Bill 
knows it, that's all the more reason why I should 
stop him doing this. 

Pamela. If you do — if you try to come between 
us — Freda — I'm going — it's all settled — kiss me 
and wish me good luck. Come, let's part friends. 

Freda (getting between her and the door). No, Pam. 

Pamela. I'm going I tell you, let me go ; he's 
waiting. 

(She attempts to push past. Bill comes in.) 

Bill. Here, where are yer ? (Turning to Freda.) 
'Ullo, puttin' your finger in the pie again. (To 
Pamela.) I've bin waitin' this ten minutes. 

Pamela. It's Freda who's kept me. I'm quite 
ready. 

Bill. Come on then. Good-bye, Freda. Sorry 
v/e shan't be here for the weddin'. 

Freda. Wait a minute. Bill. I've something to 
say before you go, you'd better hear it. 

Bill. You've always got somethin' to say. 
(Picking up Pamela's hag and preparing to go.) You 
spend your hfe havin' somethin' to say as far as I 
can make out. 

Freda (very quietly). I can quite understand 
your being afraid to give me live minutes under the 
circumstances. 

Bill (turning savagely on her). Afraid. It won't 
be me that's afraid. Go out, Pam. 

Freda (to Pamela). Wait in my room, Pam. 
(Pamela goes out. Freda sits down at the table, 
her despatch box is at her right hand. There is a con- 
siderable pause. Bill remains standing.) Won't 
you sit down, Bill. You always shuffle about so 
when you're uncomfortable. 

(Bill sits at the Utile table opposite her,) 



THE TRUANTS. 59 

You've settled to take Pam with you to Paris to- 
night and then on to South America, 

Bill. Well 

Freda. You're just going out together as friends. 
That's the scheme, isn't it ? 

Bill. I don't know why I should explain the 
position to you exactly. 

Freda. No. It's very inconvenient. Even the 
man who has lived the life you have has got some 
shame left. 

Bill. That's how you look at it ? 

Freda. How do you look at it, Bill ? How else 
can anybody look at it ? 

Bill (he pauses a moment and then speaks earnestly). 
I'll tell yer : I don't want to quarrel with yer, Freda 
— I always liked yer, and I always shall — and I'd 
much sooner part friends — I've come across a good 
many women one way and another, but there's 
precious few can play out a game of bluff like you. 
I ain't goin' to marry Pam because from my point 
of view it 'ud be a mistake. If it hadn't been for 
this upset over my business out at Dioz I should 
have gone off to Scotland to-morrow and let the 
whole thing alone, but everything's come together 
to force me hand. I've bin' absolutely straight 
with Pam — you know that. 

Freda. I understand what you mean — yes. 

Bill. And I'm fonder of her than ever I thought 
I could be of any woman. If all of you, and you, 
Freda, in particular — if you hadn't tried to force me 
into it, I'd have married her, if she'd wanted 
it. 

Freda. You know well enough how much she 
wants it. 

Bill (coming down with his fist on the table). And 
I say I should have done it. If I'd bin' let alone. 
But by God, Freda, not you nor Dick nor heaven 
nor hell, nor anythin' else, is goin' to push me in 
where I don't choose to go. It's your fault, not 



60 THE TRUANTS. 

mine. Yours and the old lady's and Dick's — a 
parcel of old women together playin' up this match- 
makin' business that no woman can let alone, I 
suppose. 

Freda. You can't get away from it like that, 
Bill. 

Bill. Oh yes I can. It's you who've made the 
girl crazy like this, stuffin' her head with a lot of 
nonsense. It's nothin' I've done. You admitted 
that, this afternoon 

Freda. That isn't the point now, though. 

Bill. Ain't it. I think it is then. It seems to 
me the whole point. She said if I went off without 
her she'd do away with herself, and now you're 
tryin' to make a penny novelette out of the business, 
but as we've arranged it it's nothin' of the sort. 
Out there, on the ranch, things are absolutely 
different to what they are here. We're right away 
in the wilds, hundreds of miles from a railway station. 
It's an absolutely primitive hfe. 

Freda. I know — Pam's been telHng me — we 
needn't go into that. 

Bill. And if she settles down to it — and — and 

Freda. Whose place is she going to fill ? 

Bill. Eh? 

Freda. How many others have you treated in 
this sort of way ? No, Bill, you can't do it — she's 
different — you know in your own heart it's bound 
to end in some hopeless catastrophe. 

Bill. Upon me word — I don't see it, Freda — 
why should it ? 

Freda. Why, because you're not the sort of 
man ever to marry a girl who's once consented to 
be treated like this. From the minute you'd done 
it you'd begin to hate her and hate yourself too. 
If you'd only give yourself 24 hours to think it over, 
you'd see it as I do. It's just as you say — you've 
been rushed. You pride yourself on being a strong 
man and you think you're being strong when you 



THE TRUANTS. 61 

say you're not going to be pushed into doing this, 
that or the other 

Bill. I've settled about this, if that's what you 
mean by bein' strong. 

Freda. Yes, but there's absolutely nothing to 
be strong or determined about in it. It's the most 
cowardly, miserable business you've ever meddled 
with. A girl like Pam — who 

Bill. I never suggested it, I tell you. 

Freda. Then that makes it a thousand times 
worse, and you know it. She's only a child, she 
knows nothing really whatever of what it all means, 
you know she doesn't — you knOw it — you might 
just as well give a baby the lighted candle that it 
stretches out its hand for — Bill. 

Bill. Oh, confound it, I ain't goin' over 
all the ground again this time of night. We've 
made up our minds and you're simply wastin' your 
breath. If Pam looked on the thing as you do, I 
shouldn't do it — but she don't — she looks on it as 
you'd have looked on it before you'd got engaged. 

Freda {passionately). You shan't say it, Bill, 
you shan't say it. 

Bill. But I do say it. Pam looks upon it as 
you've taught her to look on these things and you 
know it. That's why you don't like it. You've 
made a rod for your own back, but it ain't one for 
ours and we shall prove it. If she sticks to me I 
stick to her. We shall be married out there and 
come back after a bit and settle down at Braxton. 

Freda [in a steady firm voice, looking at him). 
You'll never go to Braxton, Bill, if you do this. 

Bill. Shan't I ? It's me own place. It was 
all settled this afternoon, the lawyer's dinin' with 
Dick at his club in London to-night and bringin' 
the papers, they're all signed by this time. (As he 
goes to the door.) If you think that I'm the sort to 
care a toss for any scandal that may get about when 
I come back here to settle down in me own house 



62 THE TRUANTS. 

and me own county — with me own wife — in all 

probability — ^well 

Freda {just as he gets to the door). I rang up Dick 
on the telephone this evening after Jessie told me 
what you proposed doing. [Rise.) Dick will sign 
no papers till he's heard from me. 

{There is a pause. Bill stalks back and sits down, 
looking at her.) 

Bill. That's your card, is it ? 

Freda. Yes. That's my card. 

Bill. So you're goin' to make it a Jack Pot, my 
girl, are yer ? 

Freda. Yes, if you like to put it that way. I'm 
going to make it a Jack Pot. 

{He pauses for a minute, drumming with his fingers on 
the chair.) 

Bill. Very well. I'm comin' in. If I don't 
marry Pam, you'll stop me gettin' Braxton ? 

Freda {sit). You certainly won't get it if you 
do what you've planned to-night. 

Bill. Quite so — very well. (Standing up and 
hendi^ig over towards her.) Now it's my call — and 
I've got a royal flush. I don't want to show it, but 
if you insist on seein' it 

Freda. I'm sorry, Bill, I don't follow you. 
You're too technical. I haven't played poker for 
years. 

Bill. No. {He sits down.) You said to me 
this afternoon you'd never done anything in your 
life to be ashamed of, didn't yer ? 

Freda. Yes. 

Bill. When Dick wrote to me six months ago 
about yer, I thought I should rather like to find out 
what sort of a girl you were. I went to a man in 
Buenos Ayres who does these jobs. He's in with 
people in London and Paris — in fact all over the 
place. 



THE TKUANTS, 63 

Freda. Yes — rather an odd idea on your part, 
wasn't it ? 

Bill. I knew something before, you see. I 
came across a young feller out in the States three 
years ago who knew yer. He was one of the relief 
force in that expedition which was just too late to 
save Carstairs and his wife, he told me somethin' 
about another Englishman up there who was shot 
right at the beginnin' of the fightin' — a Captain Mar- 
ston — you know who I mean. 

Freda. Yes — he was killed. 

Bill. I know, but he had a brother, a Dr. Mar- 
ston, a drunken blackguard of a feller. You knew 
him too. 

Freda. I've met him — yes. 

Bill. Well, this Dr. Marston offered to sell me 
some information — I bought it. This boy Jack 
Carstairs here, who was born in that fort in the 
middle of the fightin' is Captain Marston's son, and 
you're the boy's mother, isn't that so ? 

Freda. Yes — it's quite true. Well ? 

Bill. Well, there ain't so very much more to be 
said so far as I can see. I didn't want to call your 
attention to it, but as you've insisted on it I should 
rather like to know how it squares with what you 
said about your havin' nothin' to be ashamed of. 

Freda. You're talking as if I had never married 
Major Fleming. 

Bill. I know you were married to him, at least 
if you call it bein' married when he'd got another 
wife livin' somewhere else. 

Freda. How could I possibly have known that ? 

Bill. I don't say you could have known it, but 
you bolted off with him, without findin' out who he 
was, or what he was or anything about him — I don't 
know whether Carstairs and his wife consented to 
your palmin' the boy off as their child, but it seems 
to me 

Freda. Wait, Bill. You don't understand in 



«4 THE TRTTANTS. 

the least. What happened was this. The spring 
before all this occurred ^lajor Fleming and I were 
married at a small hill station in Cashmoir. 

Bill. Yes, under false names. 

Freda. Under different names — yes — because he 
told me that unless we kept the marriage secret he 
would lose the chance of an important government 
billet. 

Bill. You believed that ? , 

Freda. He showed me all sorts of letters and 
papers to prove it. I was only a girl of 17 at 
the time, he persuaded me to do it, and we started 
off to wander about by ourselves in the hills. We 
came across Ethel Carstairs and her husband about 
a week before this rising amongst the Afridis began. 
Captain Carstairs had got wind of what was going 
to happen and had had time to make his plans. 
When we'd been shut up in the fort a month Jack 
was born and the week after Major Fleming was shot. 
Ethel and her husband both knew all the while that 
he had got another wife living in Madras, but they 
daren't tell me till after the child was born. Two or 
three days before they were killed they told me every- 
thing and offered to adopt Jack and give him their 
name. I refused at first, but Ethel was determined, 
she's known me all my life and was devoted to me 
just as I am to Pam ; she said my position was hope- 
less and so it was. I don't suppose I could have 
proved I was married, and if I had it wouldn't have 
made much difference. The night before Ethel 
was killed I gave her my solemn promise I'd stick 
to the arrangement. The next day she and her 
husband were both shot just as the relief party got 
to the fort, Ethel's letters in which she spoke of Jack 
as her child were sent off to England, while I was 
in hospital. What was I to do ? How could I 
break my promise to the dead ? Why should I have 
broken it ? It was purely a matter between us three. 

Bill. Nothin' to do with Lord Strelland, eh ? 



THE TRUANTS. 60 

Freda. Why on earth should I ever have thought 
of Lord Strelland at that time ? 

Bill. You're landed now in rather a queer 
position. 

Freda. Yes, but I couldn't possibly have fore- 
seen that Lord Strelland would adopt Jack. 

Bill. No, but when he did you should have 
spoken out, shouldn't yer ? That's where I should 
have thought you'd got somethin' to be ashamed of. 

Freda. I couldn't do it, Bill. I daresay it's 
impossible for a man to understand. As far as I'm 
concerned I should be only too thankful if Jack 
never saw Lord Strelland again, and I'd sooner 
starve than ever touch a penny of his money myself. 
But it isn't a question of money at all. I couldn't 
foresee that Lord Strelland would become so devoted 
to the child, and when he did how could I prevent 
it ? When he suddenly took it into his head to 
make Jack his heir, I had either to let things go on 
as they were, or ruin my own child and m}' self too. 
I didn't care about myself but I was not going to 
injure Jack just because Lord Strelland had taken 
it into his head to do a thing like this, and, mind you, 
one of his chief reasons for doing it is to spite his 
brother, you've got to remember that. Why should 
I absolutely destroy my own child's future just 
because a man takes it into his head to act in this 
way ? No mother would do it. I didn't see how 
the secret could ever come out. 

Bill. Ah, that's it — but they do come out — 
these things — well ? 

Freda. You're going to tell Dick — that is what 
you mean ? 

Bill. Certainly not. This Dr. Marston's dead. 
He won't bother you any more, and you've made 
a very good arrangement as far as I can see. I don't 
blame yer. I shall never say a word about it if 
you don't interfere with me. You've only got to 
give me your word you'll telephone to Dick first 

X 



66 THE TRUANTS. 

thing to-morrow and tell him to sign those papers. 
Pam will write you a letter to say that we were mar- 
ried before we sailed, and when we come back we 
shall be married. So there'll be no bones broken 
one way or the other. 

Freda. And if I don't ? 

Bill. Don't what ? 

Freda. Don't fall in with your wishes ? 

(Freda and Bill are sitting opposite each other at the 
small bedroom table. Freda stares into Bill's 
eyes, ii)ho returns her stare. At the same time she 
puts her hand into the despatch box which is lying 
open on the table.) 

Bill. Well, what else are you goin' to do } You 
don't want to lose Dick, I suppose — and ruin the boy 
— and disgrace yourself. Upon me word, Freda, I 
don't see what on earth you can do except what I 
tell yer. 

{She ivhips a revolver out of the despatch box from 
tmder the letters and covers him with it.) 

Freda. I can do this. Don't move, Bill — or 
before God I shall shoot you. Are you going to do 
as I wish about Pam ? 

Bill. Stop a minute — I won't move, I promise 
yer. {Chuckling.) You're a clinker, Freda. By 
George, you're toppin' — I suppose if I laugh you'll 
call that movin', won't yer. Look here, if you do 
shoot me — you'll swing for it — you know that, I 
suppose ? 

Freda. Oh dear no, I shan't. I shall just turn 
this httle thing the other way about, that's all. I'm 
much better out of it, don't you see that — men are 
so stupid — any woman would have seen that in a 
minute. If I'm gone it will be better for Dick, better 
for the boy, better for every one — and if I get rid 
of you first, it will be better for Pam. 



THE TRUANTS. 67 

Bill. You're goin' to shoot then if I don't cave 
in — eh ? 

Freda. I shall count five, Bill. If you don't tell 
me before I've finished I shall do my best. 

Bill {chuckling). All right. Go ahead, then — 
this beats cock fightin' 

(There is a pause.) 

Freda. One — two — three — four 



(Bill knocks up the revolver, which goes off, missing 
him ; he springs across the table and catches her 
wrist, there is another report and he staggers hack, 
his left arm dropping, hut he sticks to her with his 
other hand and after a tough struggle (he has only 
one arm, the other heing disabled), he secures the 
revolver. Freda is still struggling when loud voices 
are heard outside. Bill rushes to the door.) 

Bill (standing against the door so as to prevent 
them coming in. To Freda.) Here wait, don't 
speak till I tell yer. This is a little bit of fun we've 
had between ourselves, you know ; we ain't goin' to 
let the others into this Httle entertainment. 

(The voices grow louder. There is a hanging at the 
door from the outside.) 

Bill (shouting). Come in — quick, can't yer, some 
of yer. 

(Bill leaves the door and rushes to the window, throwing 
it open. Lady Darnaway and Bent appear in 
the doorway, followed hy a group of half-clad fright- 
ened domestics.) 

Bill (excitedly at the window). Here quick, some 
of you — there — look — see — there he goes. 

Lady Darnaway. What's happened — who was 
it? 



68 THE TRUANTS. 

Bill. Who was it ? How do I know. Run 
down and knock up the policeman one of yer, not 
that he'll be any good — but it's just as well. 

Lady Darnaway. Where's Pamela ? 

Bill. Why, Freda saw the beggar creepin* down 
the passage and followed him in here and got Pam 
safe out while he was in the dressin' room, and then 
fetched me 

Lady Darnaway. Are you hurt, Bill ? 

Bill. No, nothing. Freda 'ull see to that. 
Good-night, old lady ; good-night to yer all. 

Lady Darnaway. But you're bleeding, Bill, 
I'll send for the doctor at once. 

Bill. Doctor. Nonsense. It's only through 
the fleshy part of me arm. Good-night. You can 
sleep quite comfortable now. He won't come near 
the place again. By George, I wonder he didn't 
break his leg, droppin' from that winder — Freda 
'ull see to my arm. 

(They go out, closing the door.) 

Bill [to Freda). Here, get my coat off, will yer, 
and just tie this up. 

[She gets his coat- off — his white shirt is covered with 
blood.) 

Freda. Bill, hadn't we better send for somebody ? 

Bill. Nonsense. Just a flesh wound. [As she 
ties up his arm.) Freda, you're a thunderin' good 
plucked 'un and by George I'll marry Pam to-morrow 
at the registry ofhce and go across by the night boat. 

Freda {breaking down hopelessly and throwing 
her arms round his neck). Oh, Bill — you dear old 
thing — you dear old Bill 

Bill. 'Ere, mind my arm. 

Quick Curtain, 



ACT III 

The next morning about lunch time. The scene is 
the same as in Act I. Pegler shews in Mrs. 
Collins. Peg says, " Very good, Madam. I will 
tell her ladyship." He goes. Mrs. Collins, left 
alone begins hovering round the table, spying about 
and poking into anything she can find. After quite 
a considerable pause Lady Darnaway comes in ; 
watches her for a moment, and then comes forward) 

(Lady Darnaway's manner to Mrs. Collins in this 
scene is a mixture of rage and a desire to snub Mrs. 
Collins, combined with a terror of her and her 
tongue.) 

Lady Darnaway, Good morning, Mrs. Collins. 

Mrs. Collins [wheeling round and gushing full 
on to her). Ah, but, my dear, this is really too good 
of you to come down and see me at this hour of day, 
but, as I told them, I was quite sure you wouldn't 
mind my popping in. 

Lady Darnaway (stonily). I'm so glad — have 
you had some lunch ? 

Mrs. Collins. Oh, but I shouldn't dream of 
wanting lunch to-day, and besides it's hardly one 
o'clock. If I can only be of any little help, that's 
all I came for, of course when they said you were 
out. Well, we naturally are out, aren't we, at this 
time of day to everybody except just our very inti- 
mate friends. 

Lady Darnaway. I hope they weren't too insis- 
tent. 

99 



70 THE TRUANTS. 

Mrs. Collins. Oh, but your butler's new. I 
quite understood. 

Lady Darnaway. I was afraid he might have 
been rude. I made such a particular point of none 
of us being in to anybody to-day, we are so very busy. 

Mrs. Collins. Now isn't that sweet of you to 
treat me like this, and tell me everything — and I 
know all about it, my dear. I was down at the 
laundry and Jessie came about Pamela's things. 
Oh, my dear, Jessie was in such a state of excite- 
ment, she told me everything, so I popped up at 
once to see if there was any little thing I could do. 

Lady Darnaway. That girl wants whipping. 
You'll forgive me, Mrs. Collins — of course as far as 
you are concerned it doesn't matter — but Jessie 
was told particularly 

Mrs. Collins. But that's what I said to her — 
" Supposing, Jessie," I said, " it had been somebody 
else who would have gone chattering all over the 
place — and, my dear, she would have told any body, 
she was in that condition — not that there's anything 
to conceal, I quite agree as Jessie said herself. " Well, 
ma'am, why shouldn't a lady and gentleman take 
it into their heads to marry on the spur of the moment 
so to speak, though with folks in our rank of hfe, 
ma'am, people do pass remarks and there's no deny- 
ing it." 

(Bill comes in and stands for a moment scowling at 
Mrs. Collins. Bill's arm is in a sling.) 

Lady Darnaway. You seem to be on most inti- 
mate terms with Pamela's maid, Mrs. Collins. 

Mrs. Collins. Well, you see, she belongs to the 
G.F.S. 

Lady Darnaway. Ah, I expect you find the 
G.F.S. very useful. (Sits.) 

Mrs. Collins. Well, if one hadn't any hobbies in 
the country at all you know, if one simply sat. {Sits.) 



THE TRUANTS. 71 

Of course I know it's difficult for every one to under- 
stand, but when you are working for a cause, when 
you are really interested as I am in a society like 
the G.F.S., unless you bring yourself down to the 

girls' level 

Lady Darnaway. Quite so — you find out no- 
thing. 

(Bill goes out, after fetching something off the table.) 

Mrs. Collins. Exactly, you don't get to know 
the girls — or 

Lady Darnaway. Or their concerns — or — any 
one else's. 

Mrs. Collins. Well, that's one way of looking 
at it, and for any one who does nothing whatever 
from one year's end to the other, I can quite under- 
stand that the idea of taking the trouble to befriend 
girls in Jessie's position must seem quite incompre- 
hensible. But supposing I had been like you, my 
dear, now just look what I should have missed, I 
should have been too late to kiss dear little Pamela 
before she went, and wish her the very best luck, 
and the one chance I shall probably ever have in my 
life of seeing a marriage performed by Special Licence 
would have slipped through my lingers. 

Lady Darnaway. Really, Mrs. Collins, but this 
is quite news to me. 

Mrs. Collins. I beg your pardon. 

Lady Darnaway. I know nothing whatever 
about any special licence. 

Mrs. Collins. Ah, but then you get up so very 
late, don't you. Why Freda and Mr. Preston started 
off at cockcrow to get it. They've just come back 
with it. Didn't you hear the motor ? Mr. Preston's 
simply inflated with pride. 

Lady Darnaway. I thought anybody could get 
a special licence. 

Mrs. Collins. Quite a mistake, my dear — only 
in novels, and it's nothing for Mr. Preston to be so 



7^ THE TRUANTS. 

very cock-a-hoop about, as I told him, just because 
his uncle happened to be in with the faculty office, but 
as I said to Lady Strelland, if I hadn't met Jessie 

Lady Darnaway. Have you told Mildred Strel- 
land ? 

Mrs. Collins. I met her outside the Lodge gates 
— and you know what she is — so I thought it wiser 
to tell her at once — and what do you suppose she 
said : " Oh, Mrs. Collins, how very odd " — just like 
that — " how very odd " — now isn't that exactly 
like her. But you know, my dear, the truth is, Mil- 
dred Strelland is hopelessly soured, she's never been 
able for one thing to get over losing her good looks. 

Lady Darnaway (rises). Well, I should have 
thought that not even you could have pretended that 
Mildred Strelland wasn't still a very beautiful woman. 

Mrs. Collins. Even me. (Rises.) Why, my 
dear, but I always stick up for Mildred, that's just 
it. As I was saying to Mr. Preston a moment ago, 
if she'd only taken the thing in time. 

Lady Darnaway. Taken ? What on earth do 
you mean ? 

Mrs. Collins (coming closer). My dear, this is 
entirely between ourselves — but she shaves regularly. 

(Bill and Preston come in, followed by Dick and 
Freda.) 

That I know for a fact, because the maid she got rid 
of last summer told my cook, and I've found out the 
actual shop where she buys her razors, and it's so 
silly, as I said to Mr. Preston yesterday, if she'd only 
come to me or your wife, these things nowadays are 
so very easily dealt with in their initial stages — but 
now — well — as her maid said 

Bill (coming forward, unable to stand it any longer, 
with savage rudeness). What do you say about us, 
Mrs. Collins, when you get outside ? 

Mrs. Collins (dyenching him with gush). Ah, my 



THE TRUANTS. 73 

dear Mr. Bill, my very heartiest congratulations — 
but what's the matter with your arm ? 

Bill. You've got quite enough to last for to-day 
without my arm — good mornin'. {Doing everything, 
but actually pushing Mrs. Collins towards the door.) 
Sorry to turn you out, but we've none of us a minute 
to spare 

Mrs. Collins. Oh, but don't you think I shall 
be offended, Mr. Bill. I'm quite used to Colonial 
ways, you know — our boot-boy was actually born 
in the Colonies — and as I said to Lady Strelland — 
I shall be the very first to call on you and your wife 
when you come back and settle down at Braxton. 

Bill. Thank 'ee. Comin' back next April. 
. Mrs. Collins. Then you mark my words, what- 
ever happens, no one shall say I gave dear little Pam 
the cold shoulder. I shall be the very first to come 

Bill. Quite right, after we've settled down at 
Braxton, we shall be out for three years — good 
mornin'. 

{He edges her out and slams the door.) 

Lady Darnaway. Bill, you simply terrify me 
when you are as rude as that ; she's a most dangerous 
woman too, when you offend her. 

Bill [between his teeth) . I'll wring her infernal neck 
if I catch her bletherin' about me — I've bin bothered 
enough this mornin' without her. 

Dick {coming forward anxiously, holding the special 
licence in his hand). Now, my dear old Bill, do listen 
to me for one minute. Freda and Preston have been 
at all the trouble of getting the thing, where on earth's 
the objection ? 

Bill {savagely). I tell you I've settled to do it 
me own way. Who's goin' to be married, Dick, me 
or you ? 

Dick. But if you'd only tell us what you dislike 
in it? 

Bill. I've told yer — I took the trouble to go 



74 THE TRUANTS. 

down myself to the registrar's this mornin' and left 
a note sayin' we'd be there at two. 

Dick. But you can't do it all in a minute that 
way, my dear fellow, you can't really. (Holding 
out the licence.) Come, come, old man, Freda's 
moved Heaven and earth to get this. You're quite 
ready, aren't you, Preston ? 

Preston. Perfectly, perfectly. 

Bill [takes licence and looking at it gloomily). 
Twenty-nine pounds five and sixpence ; well if ever 
I heard of such a damned waste of money. 

Freda [coming forward eagerly). Bill, dear, it's 
part of my wedding present. 

Bill [turning savagely on her). I'll be hanged if 
I'll be married on charity. [Taking a bundle of notes 
out of his breeches pocket and counting some out. Giv- 
ing the notes to Freda.) There's thirty pound. 

Dick. Confound it, Bill. 

(Lady Darnaway sits.) 

Freda [taking the notes — she half closes her eyes 
and speaks wearily). It doesn't matter. (Freda 
puts her hand to her head, sits.) 

Dick. Is your head bad again, dearest ? 

Freda. It is a bit. 

Dick. You're quite shivery. You didn't get a 
chill in that beastly motor ? 

Freda. No, no, Dick, really — I'm perfectly all 
right. I've had rather a bad night, that's all. 

Dick. Dreaming again ? 

Freda. A little — yes. [Coming up to Bill coax- 
ingly.) Bill, dear, don't be angry about it. 

Bill. Well, I don't mean to be. But I knew 
nothing of this at all, you see I was purposely told 
nothing — not a word. The moment a man's goin' 
to be married all the women start treatin' him as if 
he was a baby in arms. You said yourself yesterday 
that the only thing for Pam was to be made to do as 



THE TRUANTS. 75 

she was told, and this is the start — you and Pam 
arrangin' this behind my back without a word to 
me 

Freda {eagerly). No, no. {Crosses to table.) It 
was" nothing to do with Pam really. It was my sug- 
gestion, my wish. I couldn't bear the notion of her 
being married at the registry ofhce. You will, won't 
you? 

Bill {sulkily). Very well — if she's ready. You've 
paid for the beastly thing, I suppose ; there'll be 
no gettin' that back. Archbishops ain't the sort to 
part when they've once pouched the stuff. But you 
couldn't have started Pam worse, Freda. She's 
as extravagant as she can be already. If you'd let 
it alone and she'd had thirt}^ shiihngsworth at the 
registrar's, it would have bin 

Preston {coming forward). Now then — I think 
— if we're all ready. {To Bill.) Are you ready, 
Chetwood ? 

Bill {sulkily). How long will it take ? (Im- 
patient.) 

Preston {coming forward with a hook in his hand). 
Now, just here, look a moment. {Pointing with his 
finger in the book. Shewing book.) I'm not going to 
read that, or that ; it will take us exactly a minute 
in the motor to get to the Church ; we can do the 
whole thing and be back here in ten minutes. 

Bill. Very well. Where's Pam then? {Button- 
ing up his coat, impatiently.) Come on. 

Lady Darnaway. She's in the garden. {Goes to 
window.) I'll fetch her. {Opening the door into the 
garden — calling.) Pam — {going out) Pam 

Dick. She was in the library a few minutes ago. 
{Opening the door and calling.) Pam 

Lady Darnaway {coming back much worried). 
She was in the garden just now. 

Dick {going outside and shouting). Pam. 

Lady Darnaway {coming back). Where on earth 
is the child ? Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. {Opening 



76 THE TRUANTS. 

the other door and calling.) Pam ! Bent, is that you ? 

Bent 

(Bent comes in.) 

Bent, do you know where Miss Pamela is ? 

Bent. She's gone down to the laundry, milady. 

Lady Darn away [in despair). Well, really, 
upon my word 

Bill. Then I'll go down and see the registrar 
— I ain't goin' to stop messin' about here. I've got 
half a dozen things to do before startin'. 

Lady Darn away (beseeching him). Bill, just a 
minute. [To Freda.) Ring up the laundry, my 
dear, and see if she's there. 

(Freda goes to the telephone and rings up.) 

Freda [at telephone). Yes. Put me on to the 
laundry, please. [To Bill, who is going out.) Bill. 

Bill. I ain't goin' to wait here coolin' my heels, 
that don't fall in with my plans at all, and I ain't 
goin' to do it. 

[He goes out.) 

Lady Darn away [in agony). They'll never be 
married — I knew it — I said so all along. Bill, one 
minute. 

[She goes out.) 

Freda [at the telephone). Yes, Mrs. Hobbes — 
— yes — It's Miss Savell — yes — I want Miss Pamela 
— Yes — is that you, Pam — Yes — but we could have 
sent for the things — but you're to be married, dar- 
ling — we're all waiting — yes, you awful child — now 
— at once. But you can't possibly — yes — now here 
— we've just come back with it — Very well, we'll 
send the motor down at once. 

[The Butler comes in.) 

Butler [to Freda). Lord Strelland wishes to see 
you, miss. 



THE TRUANTS. 77 

Dick {to Butler angrily). Look here — I told 
you particularly that none of us were in to anybody. 

Butler. His Lordship says it's an appointment, 
sir. 

Freda {putting her hand to her head — distressed). 
Very well — where is he ? 

Butler. In the motor with Lady Strelland, miss. 

Freda. Ask him to come in. 

(The Butler goes out.) 

Dick. Beastly nuisance — what does Pam say ? 
' Freda. She must get her washing shirts and 
then say good-bye to her pony. (Crosses to L.) 

Dick. Look here, Preston — I'll get in the motor 
and go down to the laundry and you bike across 
to the paddock and fetch the pony up here. We 
won't be five minutes. 

(Dick and Preston go to the door r., meeting Strel- 
land as he comes in.) 

Dick (to Strelland). Mornin', Strelland. 
Strelland. Good morning. 

(Dick and Preston go out, leaving Freda and Strel- 
land alone.) 

(To Freda.) Good morning — I'm afraid I've come 
at rather an inconvenient moment. 

Freda (wearily). Well, yes — you have rather 
— you got my note. 

Strelland. I beg your pardon. 

Freda. I sent a note up early this morning ask- 
ing you to wait till to-morrow. 

Strelland. Yes 

Freda. I should have thought you might pos- 
sibly have waited, Lord Strelland, under the circum- 
stances. I said I'd bring Jack to-morrow, 

Strelland (with subdued anger). Then I'll be 
as brief as I can. When youVe heard what I have 
to say, you'll understand. 



78 THE TRUANTS. 

Freda (coldly). I hope so. (Sits.) 

Strelland. I only got back from India yester- 
day. 

Freda. Yes — you wrote to me from Calcutta. 

Strelland. Yes — while I was out there, Miss 
Savell, I visited the place where my sister was killed. 
It appears that about a year ago they pulled down 
the fort where you were all shut up, you heard of 
that? 

Freda. No. 

Strelland. They found some letters — in a box 
— hidden under the floor — one of the natives got 
hold of them somehow and kept them — when he 
heard who I was he brought them to me. They 
contain statements which affect Jack — and your- 
self — they were far too important to write about. 
Perhaps now you'll understand why I felt obliged 
to come and see you at the earliest possible oppor- 
tunity. 

(The Butler comes in r.) 

Butler. Beg pardon, milord, Lady Strelland 
wishes to speak to you. 

(Bill comes in l.) 

Strelland. Hasn't the motor gone ? 

Butler. Her ladyship's returned, milord ; she 
says she won't get out of the car. I was to say it 
was about the arrangements for to-night, milord. 

Strelland. I shall not be a moment. Miss 
Savell. (To Bill.) Good morning, Chetwood. 

Bill. Mornin'. 

(Strelland goes out r.) 

(To Freda.) Where's my cartridge box, d'you 
know ? 

Freda (staring i?i front of her). Your — cart- 
ridges — I don't know. 

Bill. Dick's bolted off somewhere now, I tell 



THE TRUANTS. 79 

you what it is, Freda, if Miss Pam don't turn up in 
a few minutes I shall go to London without her. I 
was perfectly ready to do as I promised, and I'm 

here to do it — but [Crosses to F., feeling his 

arm and fumbling with his coat.) Confound this 
bandage, it's slipped again. I wish you'd just tie 
it up for me, would you ? 

Freda {dazed — to Bill, who is trying to get his coat 
off.) What is it. Bill— yes— I 

Bill (tugging at his coat). Just see to this, will 
yer ? 

(Freda comes towards him with unsteady steps — then 
she stops — raises her hands as if to put them to her 
head. Then drops them — her eyes close and she 
sways. Bill rushes forward and catches her just 
as she is going to fall.) 

Bill. Hullo — I've got you, it's all right, Freda. 
What's the matter — I've got you. (He gets her into 
a chair and pulls his flask from his pocket.) Con- 
found this arm. (Pouring a drop into the cup of the 
flask and putting it to her lips.) Here. 

(He pours a little down her throat. Gradually she 
opens her eyes.) 

Freda (with a look of terror in her eyes). Thanks 
— I shall be all right in a moment — ^Bill — he's found 
out. 

Bill. What ? 

Freda. Lord Strelland — ^when he was in India 
— he got hold of some letters — he's found out. 

Bill. What — about you and Jack, d'you mean ? 

Freda. Yes, yes. (Wildly.) What shall I do 

— what shall I do Bill, I knew it was coming 

— I knew it somehow — after what you said last night. 
" These things come out " — do you remember you 
said it. I hardly slept last night — every five min- 
utes I kept waking — suddenly — in the middle of 



80 THE TRUANTS. 

such horrid dreams. I — thought I was back there 
— back in that dreadful place — waiting — waiting 
— all through those ghastly nights and days. And 
every time I woke — I was going through it — over 
and over again — I kept on trying to creep out — 
out on to the wall — hoping I might get shot — and 
twice — I saw — him. It was horrible — I thought 
I was in love with him again — dreams — they're so 
strange in that way — I kept muddling them together 
— him and Dick — the native soldiers — they were 
carrying him — into my bedroom — on the stretcher 
— soaked in blood — and every time I woke. The 
same words — sometimes it was {rise) you — some- 
times Dick — and then I heard him say it — as if he 
was laughing at me — " You'll be found out — found 
out." 

Bill. Come, come, Freda. Pull yourself to- 
gether. {Getting out his flask again.) Here. 

Freda {shaking her head). No — I'm all right. 
{Sits.) 

Bill. If it has come out — there's worse things 
happened you know, before this. You were plucky 
enough last night. 

Freda {staring in front of her — m a dry voice). 

Dick — Dick {Wringing her hands.) Oh, why 

didn't I tell him. {Starting forward suddenly towards 
Chetwood.) Bill — what will he do ? {Crosses to R.) 

Bill. If Strelland splits on you to Dick — I'll 
scragg the devil — that's all. 

Freda. That's no good — what's the good of 
talking like that. Bill, say something — tell me 

Bill. It's bad luck — thunderin' bad luck — after 
all this time. 

Freda. Yes — I must do something — I — if it had 
only happened a month ago — I shouldn't have cared 
— I was callous — but now — when it's all come back 
— all my old happiness — all my old faith — on pur- 
pose to have it snatched away again — that's how it 
seems, just as if God had planned it all to make it 



THE TRUANTS. 81 

more than I can bear. [Breaking down and sobbing 
pitifully.) And IVe never done anything, Bill — 
I've never done anything wrong — it's just luck — it's 
just {She sobs helplessly.) 

Bill {ruminating ponderously). It's what my 
old mother used to call one of the inscrutable 
decrees of Providence. 

Freda {bttr sting out in an agony of despair). Why 
upon me ? Why upon me ? — why upon me ? I 
can't give Dick up, I tell you, Bill — I 

Bill. Well, I don't profess to understand it. 
But anyhow, Freda, look here. It's no manner of 
use your workin' yourself up like this, is it ? If the 
cat's out of the bag it's out. And if Providence has 
chosen to work it that way, it's not a pennorth of 
good your puzzlin' your head about that either. 
You see, old girl, you say you've never done anything 
— ^but if we're goin' to argue it from that point of view 
— well — you did your best to shoot me and do away 
with yourself last night, you know. That's all 
outside the book of the rules as far as I remember. 

Freda. I know — I know — but 

Bill. You see, accordin' to your own account, 
Freda — you've bin' railin' at Providence for years 
and years, haven't yer ? 

Freda. Oh, I know, I know — everything had 
gone — everything. But it's come back now — and 

I don't see — I don't see {Turning on him 

wildly.) How can you say there's any justice in it 
— Bill — how can you ? 

Bill. I dunno. How should I know. But I 
tell you how my old dad would have looked at it. 
He'd have thought it all just enough. Accordin' 
to his notion you've kicked over the traces for years, 
and now you've repented and all that and you're 
just like one of the village school children who's bin 
playin' truant. You've come back and reported 
yourself and now you've got to take what's waitin' 
for yer. {Cross to f.) 

F 



82 THE TRUANTS. 

Freda. No, Bill. Even a man like that wouldn't 
have pretended I deserved all the agony I went 
through as a girl. 

Bill. You made your own rules as a girl, that's 
where he'd have had yer. You must have made 
your own rules, or you'd never have bolted with 
a chap like Marston. You were warned, you said 
so this mornin'. 

Freda. Bill, I know. But I was only seventeen 
— and now — just for that, after all this time — to 
be 

Bill. Stop it — don't excite yourself. You've 
got to see Strelland and you'd much better keep quiet. 
And don't you turn on Providence, Freda, just 
because you've always tried to make Providence 
fit in with some notion of what you think he ought 
to be — it's not a bit of use 

(Bent comes in r.) 

Bent. We've found the box, sir. 

Bill. Where is it ? 

Bent. In the gun-room, sir. 

{She goes out r.) 

Bill. Now, you pull yourself together and play 
the hand as well as you can. 

(Bill goes out r.) 

(Freda is left alone for a few moments, stage business.) 

(Strelland comes in.) 

Strelland (Strelland's manner is cold and for- 
mal). I haven't brought the letters. Miss Savell. 
I made a brief abstract of the important points. 
Fm sure you will understand why I didn't write 
about it. 

[He hands her a paper, there is a pause, she looks 
through it.) . 



THE TRUANTS 83 

I thought it would save time if you would just tell 

me whether there's any truth — in 

{She folds up the paper, puts it on the table and looks at 
him calmly.) 

Freda (in an even voice). It's not quite correct. 

Strelland. You mean ? 

Freda. It was their suggestion that they should 
take Jack. 

Strelland. I see. Otherwise ? 

Freda (looking at him). Yes. It's all perfectly 
true. 

Strelland. I should have been told of this, 
don't you think ? 

Freda (in the same even voice — looking at him). 
I'm sorry — yes. 

Strelland. You see it puts me now in a position 
that— that 

Freda. Does any one else — does your wife — 
know about it ? 

Strelland. No — no one — at present. 

Freda. What do you propose to do ? 

(There is a pause. He watches her. She keeps her 
eyes fixed on him and moves towards the table.) 

Strelland. My suggestion is this. If you choose 
to let me have the boy altogether — not a living 
soul shall ever hear a word of this. 

Freda. And if not ? 

(Strelland shrugs his shoulders and makes a gesture 
with his hands.) 

{In an even tone.) Briefly your position is this, you 
are going to force me to give up my child under the 
threat of exposing me to the man I'm going to marry. 
Strelland. If you think for a moment, Miss 
Savell — I am sure you will see that putting it in that 
way is utterly unfair to me. Through a gross piece 



84 THE TRUANTS. 

of deception on your part you have allowed me for 
years to occupy a certain position with regard to 
Jack — a position which I've made public to the 
whole world. Now — these facts come to light, you 
don't attempt to deny them or palliate them in any 
way. I don't pretend that I've ever liked you — I 
never have — and I've never trusted you. You see 
I'm a religious man — and 

Freda. Really! really! I mean — I didn't know. 

Strellanp. Oh, if you mean that I haven't been 
to church of late years — that is for reasons best known 
to myself — but — I — I — believe in things. I'm not 
like — well — hke you at any rate have given yourself 
out to be in the past. 

Freda. Lord Strelland, that's all over — I swear 
to you it's all done with. I'm absolutely changed. 

Strelland. Since ? 

Freda. I — I know — it's quite lately. 

Strelland. Since your engagement, you mean. 
I heard you were in church last Sunday. These 
emotional changes — I am sorry to say — I don't put 
much faith in 

Freda. It isn't that — it isn't — it isn't emotion. 
Will you give me a chance — will you let things 
remain as they are for — a time ? {Coming towards 
him.) Lord Strelland 

{Suddenly his manner changes — he takes a swift step 
towards her and clutches her by the arm, staring into 
her face and speaking in a low voice quivering with 
passion.) 

Strelland. I want Jack — I tell you — I want 
him — I want him — I love him — I've no children of 
my own — and I've got this chance — and 

{He drops her arm hut still stands perfectly rigid — 
quivering and staring at her.) 

(There is a pause. When he speaks again it is in the 
formal voice.) 



THE TRUANTS. 86 

If you don't do this, Miss Savell — ^what does it mean 
— think — Chetwood will have to know. 

Freda. I'd chance that. 

Strelland [eagerly jumping on to his point). Yes, 
yes. But Jack — he must be told who he is, and 
what he is. He's a clever child. He'd go far. 
He would have come into one of the best positions 
in this part of England — the question is — when he 
grows up whether, if you refuse to do as I suggest, 
he may not feel that you've sacrificed him at your 
own inclinations. I don't wish to put any unfair 
pressure upon you at all — but it's ridiculous not to 
face the circumstances, exactly as they are. 

Freda. There are your brother's children. 

Strelland. There's a quarrel between us that 
can never be made up. I'm a lonely man. All 
this money — this enormous property, it will go 
to your boy — nothing's entailed — I've an absolutely 
free hand. You can't possibly stand in the child's 
way — you his mother. 

'ER'ETik [in an even voice). I see — very well 

Strelland. You — ah — think of failing in with 
my plans. 

Freda. I shall be able to see him sometimes ? 

Strelland. Possibly — yes — at least — we can 
settle that afterwards — I really don't know — I 

Freda. When do you propose to — to [almost in 
a whisper, her lip quivering) take him away ? 

Strelland [moving away and turning from her). 
Well, I was thinking that he might come back ^vith 

me now — for this afternoon at any rate — and 

[He goes to the door leading into the garden, calling.) 
Jack — ^Jack — here a moment. 

(Jack's voice heard outside.) 

Jack [outside, shotiting at the top of his voice). 

What ho — without there- 

Strelland. Jack — here. 



86 THE TRUANTS. 

Jack {appearing at the door). Yes. {He has his 
fishing-rod in his hand and holds up a fish.) I say, 
look what I caught in the pond. 

Strelland. Yes — what a beauty — your cousin 
wants to speak to you for a moment. 

(Strelland goes out into the garden, shutting the door.) 

(Jack comes in, leaving the rod and fish outside.) 

Jack. Hullo, Cousin Freda — I say, why didn't 
you tell me ? 

Freda. What, dear ? 

Jack. Why, about old Bill and Pam goin' to be 
married — I can stop for it, can't I ? 

Freda {crosses to f.). Stop ? I don't know. 

Jack. Well, Uncle Strelland wants me to go 
back with him at once and stay, you know. 

Freda. Stay the night, do you mean ? 

Jack. Well — longer than that — Bent's packing 
my things. He's got all these people coming to 
shoot to-morrow and he wants me to be there be- 
cause the chap who's going to be my house-master 
at Eton's coming. 

Freda. You'll like that, won't you ? 

Jack. What ? 

Freda. Going back with Lord Strelland. 

Jack. Oh — I don't mind for a bit — it's a change. 
Do you know there's one thing's simply fearful sport 
at Uncle Strelland's. 

Freda. What's that, darhng ? 

Jack. Shouting down the ventilators — he's just 
had some new sort of ventilating pipes put in — cost 
millions — and if you climb up outside and shout 
down them, you simply can't think what a row it 
makes. You should just see Aunt Strelland when 
I do it. 

Freda. Do you like her, Jack ? 

Tack. Aunt Strelland — oh, I don't know — she's 
not so bad — lor a woman. Do you know, Cousin 



THE TRUANTS. 87 

Freda, I was thinking the other day, and I've come 
to the conclusion that I don't care for women very 
much, p'raps it's because I've never had a mother 
like other chaps. You're the only one I care about. 
{Climbing on to her lap.) I say, do you remember 
what I always used to like doing to you ? 

Freda. What ? 

Jack {taking the lobe of hey ear between his finger 
and thumb). Pinching the soft bit of your ear like 
that, don't you remember ? 

Freda. Yes, darling. 

Jack. Does it hurt ? 

Freda. No. 

Jack. There, does that hurt ? {Suddenly noticing 
her eyes.) I say, I am awfully sorry — I didn't think 
I was pinching a bit hard, really I didn't. 

Freda {wiping her eyes with her handkerchief). 
No, no, Jacky dear, it wasn't that. You see Pam's 
going away has made me a little unhappy ; it was 
nothing to do with your pinching my ear, really it 
wasn't. If you were to pinch me twenty times as 
hard as that — I shouldn't mind. 

Jack. Wouldn't you really, Cousin Freda. Not 
if I hurt you awfully. 

Freda. I shouldn't mind a bit — just at this 
minute. 

Jack. Don't women mind pain ? I thought they 
weren't so brave as men. 

Freda {looking at him, but not really listening for 
the moment). What, darling ? 

Jack. Don't women mind pain and suffering ? 

Freda. They've got to put up with it, Jacky 
dear, that's what they're here for. 

Jack. How do you mean ? 

Freda. I can't explain it exactly. But if women 
began to object to suffering everything would stop. 

Jack. Do you mean to say that the world would 
come to an end if women weren't always suffering ? 

Freda. Something like that — yes — always — every 



88 THE TRUANTS. 

minute of the day and night somewhere in the world 
there are women suffering. 

Jack. But why ? For something they've done 
wrong ? 

Freda. No, no, not that. 

Jack. Just to keep things going, d'you mean ? 

Freda. Yes — just to keep things going. 

Jack. What a funny plan. Is that what the 
Suffragettes are going to alter, Cousin Freda ? 

Freda. Who's told you about the Suffragettes ? 

Jack. Oh, Aunt Strelland's always jawing about 
them. I say, do you know what I'm going to do 
when I'm grown up ? 

Freda. What, dearest ? 

Jack. You know that farmhouse above Braxton, 
well it belongs to Dick, and only the old dairyman 
lives there — he'll be dead by that time, and I'm just 
going to take you there, when I'm at a public school, 
you know — in the summer holidays — and we'll just 
live there by ourselves. 

Freda. Wouldn't it be dull, Jacky, right away 
up there by ourselves, with nobody else at all ? 

Jack {looking very kyiowing). Yes — you think 
that — because you're engaged to Dick — but — Cousin 
Freda — we won't have old Dick — see — you'll have 
been married to him for ever so long by that time. 
You won't feel a bit like you do now — and — d'you 
know, Mrs. Collins says that if married couples gave 
each other a bit of a rest sometimes they'd often 
get on ever so much better — of course I don't mind 
your thinking so much about Dick now because — 
well — you're engaged — but you do love me better 
than Dick, so we'll just give him the slip. 

Freda. Perhaps Lord Strelland will want to 
take you abroad with him. 

Jack. Will he ? 

Freda. He's spoken of it — and — Jack — perhaps 
I may not be able to see you quite so much as you 
get older. 



THE TRUANTS. 89 

Jack {in an altered voice). What — how do you 
mean ? 

Freda. You may have to go away a great deal, 
dearest, and 

Jack (getting off her lap. His breath beginning to 
catch). You're not — tired of me — just — just be- 
cause you're going to marry Dick. I always thought 
that very Hkely it 'ud — you — you — won't be Hke 
that ? 

Freda {with diffictiUy). No, no, Jacky, it's not 
that — it's not that. 

Jack [somewhat reassured). It isn't, is it — be- 
cause if (Catching sight of something on the 

floor). Hullo, there's my watch clasp, the very thing 
I was looking for yesterday — somebody's trod on 
it too. (Putting it between his teeth and trying to bite 
it straight.) Because — look here — I tell you one 
thing. Cousin Freda — I shall never get tired of you — 
I couldn't. 

(Jack during the rest of his lines here is trying to get 
the clasp straight and does not look up at Freda, 
ivho cries silently.) 

Do you remember that time when you were so ill in 
London ? It was then I started it. I'll tell you — 
saying this at the end of my prayers — every night 
when I'd said — that thing you know what you 
always say at the end — blessallkindfriendsandrela- 
tionsmakemeagoodboyamen. I just said afterwards, 
" and keep Cousin Freda 'cos I love her better than 
anj^body," and I've always said it ever since, and 
I don't care what you do when you're married, I 
shall say it just the same, always. 

Freda (pulling herself together). Yes, yes — Jack 
darling — come here — Glisten — it's nothing to do with 
my marrying Dick. 

(Jack comes to her.) 



90 THE TRUANTS. 

It isn't really. It's only that Lord Strelland thinks 
that now you're getting older, that he ought to have 
you more with him in the holidays — and — he — he — 
may — want — to — keep you with him a great deal — 
almost all the time — in fact — and I can't help it — 
you see — I 

Jack. He can do as he likes, you mean ? 

Freda. Yes. But, Jack, promise me this — you 
won't forget — I mean if perhaps you don't see me 
for a long time^you'U always remember — just to — 
to say — those words you said just now — always, 
darling, won't you ? Before you go to bed — because 
— though I may not be near you every night when 
you're saying your prayers — I shall be thinking of 
you — and 

(Bent comes in r. to c.) 

Bent. If you please, miss, is Master Jack to 
take his school things ? 
Freda. I don't know — I 

(Strelland comes in from the garden.) 

Bent [turning to Strelland). I didn't know, 
milord, whether you meant Master Jack to take his 
playbox ? or whether he is to come here again before 
he goes back to school ? 

Strelland. Send everything, Bent, please, and. 
Jack, if you want to bring your fishing-rod, you'd 
better go and take it to pieces. 

(Jack goes out.) 

(Turning to Freda.) I felt. Miss Savell, that — it 
was better to 

(Dick comes in hurriedly r.) 

Dick (rapidly). We've run that little minx Pam 
to earth at last. Hullo, Strelland. 

Strelland. How do. Sorry to rush in on you 



THE TRUANTS. 91 

like this, but I had a wire from Jack's future house- 
master, he's coming down to-night, and I wanted 
the boy to meet him — and — as Miss Savell has no 
objection I 

(Freda leaping up and bursting out in a torrent of 

words.) 

Freda. You shan't then — he shan't go — he shan't 
—he shan't. Oh, Dick! Oh, Dick! 
Dick. What is it — what's the matter ? 
Freda {bursting away from him). He's mine. 

(She snatches the paper from the table and gives it to 
Dick.) 

It's all there — I can't give him up — I can't do that — 
Dick — he's mine — I'll go — it doesn't matter — I'll 
go — I ought to have told you before — I don't mind 
going — but I can't give him up — I daresay I ought 
to, but 

(Strelland goes out.) 

I can't do it. I 

{She sinks on to the chair, sobbing brokenly.) 

I — can't — I can't. {Her voice dies away in the struggle 
of her sobs.) 

{There is silence for a time, except for her choking sobs. 
Dick comes quietly to her and puts his hand on her 
shoulder.) 

Dick {very gently). Freda, don't cry, darHng — 
you mustn't cry. 

Freda. Oh ! I ought to have told you — I know 
— I know. But I couldn't. I was so happy — I 
couldn't — I don't mind going, Dick — but don't think 
against me. 

Dick {sitting beside her). Freda, listen. I know 
something about this. At least I didn't actually 



92 THE TRUANTS. 

know — ^but two months ago I suppose it was, this 
man, this Dr. Marston asked me to come to see him 
in London. It was three or four days before he 
died. AlcohoHc poisoning they called it at the in- 
quest — he was quite incoherent when I saw him., 
but he said enough to enable me to guess that there 
was something of this kind. Of course I wasn't 
engaged to you then — but- 



Freda. I tried to tell you, Dick- 



DiCK. I know, dear — but I'm not that sort. 
We're none of us like that — none of us Chetwoods. 
— you know the woman my grandfather married 
— he fell in love with her without at all knowing 
what she was, and when — people tried to tell him — 
well — he put a bullet through one of them. We're 
all like that. I don't care in the least what you've 
done. {Smiling.) The worse your crimes, the 
fonder I should be of you. 

Freda. But I don't see how you can forgive it 
— I mean my not telling you. 

Dick {rises). Dearest, from my point of view 
there's nothing to forgive. 

Freda {rises). Oh, Dick, I beHeve the flintiest- 
hearted man on earth would forgive me if he knew 
what I'd suffered. 

Jack {rushing in in a state of wild excitement). 
Dick — Dick, I say what do you think ? They've 
caught the burglar. 

Dick. Eh ? 

Jack. The man who broke into Pam's bedroom 
last night. {Calling out into the garden.) Mr. Check- 
ley — Hi — come in — Mr. Checkley. 

(Checkley follows Jack into the room and goes up to 
Freda.) 

Checkley {to Freda). We've ketched 'un, miss, 
and we shall require you for the purposes of identifi- 
cation. 



THE TRUANTS. 98 

Freda. What's he like, the man you've caught ? 

Checkley. Red-'aired man, with a snub nose, 
miss. You can't mistake 'im. 

Freda. Oh, then that can't possibly be him. 
The man I saw last night was a tall dark man with 
a black beard. 

Jack (dragging her out). But they're sure it's 
him, Cousin Freda — come and look — he's handcuffed. 

(Freda and Jack go out r. Dick exit l.) 

(Bill comes in r.c.) 

Bill [to Checkley). Here, I say, who on earth's 
that you've got outside there ? 

Checkley. We've got 'im, sir — the burglar. 
There, Miss Savell, she don't 'ardly remember I 
dessay, but you'd know 'im I warrant. 

Bill. What's he Uke, this man ? 

Checkley. Red-'aired man, sir, with a snub nose. 

Bill. Not the man, Checkley. The man who 
shot at me was a small fair-haired man with a grey 
moustache. 

Checkley. Ah, this 'eer feller 'ud look like that 
in the dark, I dessay. 

[A huge box with Pamela's initials is brought down 
into the hall.) 

If you'll come a minute, sir, I think you'll find as 
this is the man. 

{He meets Freda at the door.) 

Bill. All right. 

Freda. It's dreadful, Bill — he's handcuffed. You 
must stop it. 

(Pamela rushes in in great excitement, f.r.) 

Pamela. Freda, quickly. I've been looking for 
you all over the place. {Then in an agonized 



94 THE TRUANTS. 

voice.) Where is that hat you promised to give me ? 
Freda. I'll get it, dearest. 

(Freda goes out l.) 

(Afwther huge box with Pamela's initials arrives, 
followed hy Bent.) 

Pamela. There's room in that one, isn't there. 
Bent, for another hat ? 
Bent. I think so, miss. 

(.4 third box is- carried in, followed fey Lady Darn away.) 

Pamela. Oh, well, put it in there. 

Lady Darn away (r.). My dear child, it's not 
the slightest use taking all your thick winter dresses, 
I assure you. 

Pamela. You dear old Aunt See — you — are such 
a dear — as if I didn't know what the climate was. 

Lady Darn aw ay. But, Pamela dearest, what 
can you do with all those frocks out on the ranch ? 

Pamela. We shall go into a town sometimes, I 
suppose. Anyhow I'm not going to be parted from 
my clothes, so that's fiat. 

Bill (to Pamela). Aren't yer ? [Looking at the 
boxes.) What's all this ? 

Pamela. It's only just some of my clothes, Bill 

Bill. Open 'em. Let's see what you've got. 

Pamela. Bill, listen. I promise you I've looked 
up the climate in Harmsworth's Encyclopaedia. 
I'm only taking just what's suitable. 

Bill. Where are your keys ? 

{She gives him the keys. He unlocks the boxes and 
pulls out one thing after another, throwing them 
broadcast about the room.) 

Here, what's all this tomfoolery ? [Showering them 
out.) Look here. [Turning to Lady Darnaway.) 



THE TRUANT8. 05 

When's the next jumble sale at the Rectory ? Look 
here, Pam — upon me word 

Pamela [white with passion). How dare you, Bill 
— how dare you touch my things. [Rushing at him 
and trying to drag him from the box.) I will take them, 
I tell you — you beast. Bill — I — will. 

Bill [turning and gripping her by both arms above 
theelhow). Stop it — d'you hear. 

{Inhere is a pause. He looks at her, gripping her arms.) 

Pamela (in a frightened voice). Bill, you're hurt- 
ing. 

Bill [leading her to a chair and setting her down 
like a child of three). You sit there, and if you get 
up before I tell yer, I shan't take yer at all, d'you 
hear. What's in those other boxes ? 

Pamela [rubbing her arm where Bill pinched her). 
Only some light summer dresses. 

Bill. Both of 'em. 

Pamela. The one by the door's got my winter 
things in it, but [Rubbing her arm.) 

Bill [pointing to the two boxes). Take 'em down 
to the Rectory. 

[The servants take one of the three boxes out.) 

Pamela [sniffing). But I shan't have a rag to 
my back, Bill. 

Bill. There's an old Indian woman 'ull make 
you plenty of clothes out on the ranch. [Goes L.) 

(Pamela continues sniffing, but takes care to sit still.) 
(Freda comes in with the hat in her hand.) 

Freda. Here it is. Why, what's the matter, 
Pam? 

Pamela [sniffing). Nothing, darling. It's only 
that I feel leaving you all so dreadfully. 

Freda. Dearest ! [She kisses her.) 



06 THE TRUANTS. 

Pamela. Can I get up, Bill ? 

Bill [who is talking to Dick). Eh ? 

Pamela. Can I get up ? 

Bill. Yes. [Coining up to her.) But just you 
remember this, Pam, accordin' to the law out there, 
it's a perfectly simple matter for any man to get 
rid of his wife, if she can't keep her temper. I don't 
want to be unreasonable, but you ain't a schoolgirl 
— you're a married woman now — and 

Freda (starting forward). What ? Bill — are 
you ? — have j^ou ? 

Bill. Married Pam — yes — but if she thinks she's 
goin' to a country where just because a woman's 
married 

Freda [breaking in and rushing up to Pamela long 
before Bill can say more than " Yes — but if" — i.e. 
Bill goes on talking sirmiUaneously, while Freda says 
the following line, kissing and fondling Pamela). Oh, 
Pam — Oh, Pam — dearest, dearest little Pam — but 
I think you might have let me know, darling, after 
all the trouble I've taken. 

Pamela [sniffing and whimpering). He — he — 
wouldn't wait — I was strolling quietly up here, and 
just as I got to the Church — they caught me, and 
rushed me in and bumped me down, and did it all 
exactly as if I was having a tooth out, and [breaking 
down and sobbing biitevly) I've left all my washing 
shirts on the font — and — they've tu — tu — tumbled in. 

Bill [angrily). There was no water in it, I tell yer. 

Pamela [angrily). There was. Bill. You know 
there was, it was what that horrible little Norton 
baby was baptized in yesterday. Mr. Preston never 
changes the water, now we're so short in the village. 

Lady Darnaway. My dear child, what dreadful 
nonsense. 

Freda. Never mind, don't cry, dearest. 

Pamela [wiping her eyes). I shall be all right in 
a minute. [Whispering). Freda, darling. 

Freda. What. 



THE TRUANTS. 97 

Pamela. I — I (She begins sniffing again.) 

Freda. Tell me. 

Pamela. Oh, Freda — I 

Freda (very earnestly). Tell me, dearest — if it's 
anything I've ever said. (Whispering almost.) 
Pam 

Pamela. Freda (looking round at Bill, who is now 
talking to Dick), you ask him. 

Freda. What ? 

Pamela. Whether I can't just take one or two 
things out of that box. I can squash them into 
the other box. 

(The servants come in and carry out the second box.) 

(Beginning to sniff again.) He's sending my boxes 
down to the Rectory for the Jumble Sale. 

Freda. Bill. 

Bill (turning from Dick.) Eh ? 

Freda. Can Pam just take one or two things 
out of that box, she can get them into her other box. 

(Lady Darn away coming up to Pamela.) 

Lady Darn away. Yes, yes, my dear, I'm sure 
Bill will. (Calling to the servants who are carrying 
out the box.) Pritchard. 

(Lady Darnaway hurries out after the servants, who 
carry the box out.) 

Bill (coming up to Pamela). Let's see what you 
want. I don't mean to be unreasonable, only I 
haven't been out there fifteen years without knowin' 

Pamela. But, Bill, if you'd only listen. 

(They go out, disputing vigorously. Pamela in her 
shrill, chattering voice, Bill rumbling a bass accom- 
paniment, both talking at once without listening to 
the other.) 

(Freda and Dick are left alone. Dick comes l.) 



98 THE TRUANTS. 

(Freda begins picking up some of the things Bill 
has thrown on the floor.) 

Dick. Well, you've got your way over that any- 
how. Freda, we've never settled yet what day we're 
going to be married. 

(Freda stops picking up the clothes and puts them on 
a chair. She does not look at Dick, hut stands 
fumbling with the ring on her finger.) 

Freda (in a low voice). Dick. 

(He comes to her and puts his arms round her.) 

Dick. WeU ? 

Freda (looking up at him and smiling rather piti- 
fully). You do want your poor old second-hand 
remnant of a wife ? I'm only fit for a jumble sale. 

Dick (holding up his finger in front of her). Look 
here. If like that I could change a single thing 
about you, I wouldn't do it. 

Freda. But why ? 

Dick. Because then you wouldn't be the girl I've 
settled to marry in about a fortnight. (Bursting 
out.) I tell you, Freda, if by holding up my hand 
hke that 

Freda (rises, catching the hand he holds up). Oh, 
Dick, how dreadfully you bite your nails. 

Dick. That's because I'm worrying, dearest, at 
the length of our engagement. When did we get 
engaged ? 

Freda. It will be ten days to-morrow. (Sits.) 

Dick. And I've settled absolutely nothing, 
beyond getting this old thing out of the safe at the 
bank. (He takes a large old-fashioned looking locket 
out of his pocket.) That belonged to my mother, 
it's for you to wear on the day we're married. Can 
you read what I've had engraved inside ? I ain't a 
literary cove, so I couldn't think of any poetry or 
anything, but I've always liked those words, ever 
since I was a kid. D*you see ? 



THE TRUANTS. dd 

Freda (looking at the locket). There ? 
Dick. No, no, the other side — slant it like that 
— there. 
Freda (reading slowly). I, Margaret Ethelfreda, 
Dick (reading). Take thee, Richard, 
Freda (reading). To have and to hold 
Dick (reading). From this day forward 
Freda (reading). For better for worse, 
Dick (reading). For richer for poorer, 
Freda (reading). In sickness and in health, 
Dick (reading). To love and to cherish, 
Freda (reading). Till death us do part. (Throw- 
ing her arms round him passionately.) Oh, Dick 
— till death us do part. Till death us do part. 

Curtain. 



THE TRUANTS. ACTS I AND III. 
French 

Door 




Note,-— The big table might be discarded in Act III. 



THE TRUANTS. ACT II. 

Window 



Door Into 



1 1 


Bed 


u 






Washstand 


Wardrobe 


Table 




n 

Chair 




n 

Chair 



Door Into 

Dressingr- 

room 



Printed by Butler & Tanner, Frome and London. 



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